Taking a Turn Towards Eternity
by evergirlin
Summary: Six months after the Ferris Wheel, and Claire Bennet's life is not what she envisioned and no one is what they seem in a brave new world.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I love Sylaire, I love heroes, I love writing. I own nothing... sad, I know.

Beware of Adult Language, Violence, Adult Themes and eventual Adults Doin' It Like Bunnies.

Enjoy!

Sylar didn't trust surprises, coincidences or serendipity. Sylar figured in a world where eternity is the only option, eventually every possibility becomes reality, so surprises were just another pile of bullshit. Eventually he would come to be really pleased to be caught off-guard by someone fiddling with a key in the front door of Peter and Emma's New York apartment in the middle of the night.

As he unfolded himself silently from the couch where he had fallen asleep watching old Doctor Who reruns and glanced at his watch, only to be baffled. "Who the hell could be here at 3:42 in the morning?" Sylar mumbled under his breath as he headed toward the foyer to investigate his mystery visitor.

* * *

Claire was going to maim someone. In all honesty, she could give a fuck who it was. Claire could feel the blood pumping through her veins like a fire and preparing to explode out of her pores. "Liars!" she hissed as she stomped up the stairs to Peter and Emma's apartment, "Everyone is a fucking liar!"

He had finally gone too far. Every time she thought that Noah Bennet couldn't possibly disappoint her anymore he decided to kick it up a notch! Of course he had been lying to her every moment of the last 6 months since she jumped off that damn Ferris wheel. Lies, lies and more lies. Was it all he knew? Was he just incapable of any real human interaction?

Oh wait! He _was_ capable of interaction. In fact he was capable enough to acquire a whole new life on the sly. Lauren, his old secret girlfriend, was no longer secret. He could connect with _her_, tell _her_ the truth, but Claire gets a life of lies. Not only had her father been living with _that_ woman for 5 months, but now he was going to marry her! She should have known his employment was not something that would please her and when he told her only, "I'm familiar with the field," Claire's heart sank. Roughly translated, "My hussy and I spend every waking moment attempting to wipe your kind from the face of the earth."

She had thought that her jump would change the world. If she used herself as a catalyst, she could make the world inhabitable for humans and the evolved alike. The brave new world of her dreams, the place where her life finally belonged to _Claire_, was a pipe-dream. Claire jammed her key into the lock, tears blurring her vision. Viciously she rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear them before waking up her sleeping uncle and his fiancé with her mountain of problems.

Maybe she was being selfish, bitter and a little childish, but she knew one goddamn thing. She needed Peter. She needed him to remind her of the goodness in the world, the trust they had was real and maybe he could give Claire a little bit of hope. With that thought propelling her, she threw open the door to the apartment and strode in, preparing for a tirade that would put Bobby Knight to shame.

* * *

If Sylar were any kind of artist, his greatest work would be of Claire, he knew that for a fact. The moment she stepped over the threshold, he knew he would need to recreate the image in some form in his long life. She was beautiful, that was a given; glowing with righteous anger. She seemed almost transformed, finally frazzled… all at once, completely attainable. At that moment the darkness and pain within her was palpable and it called to that terrible hunger, drawing him toward her, like a siren, begging for its mate. Her hair flowed around her as she took another step into the room and the smell of lilacs and jasmine flowed across to him and he took the deepest breath he could. Just there, on the tip of his senses he could smell… _Claire_.

She was seething, an Amazonian goddess readying to smite all who would oppose her. He couldn't have wanted her more. He had never doubted that Claire was the only woman that actually _mattered_ in the grand scheme of his life; Lydia's ability had given him tangible evidence of that, but looking at her now, he knew he would never be complete without her by his side. He would _possess_ her, even if it took him all of time, of that he was sure. When she locked eyes with him, the furious look she wore moved from confused and back to furious in the blink of an eye.

Her voice was hard and brittle as glass and he could see the remnants of tears in her eyes, "What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

"Argh!" was the first thought in Claire's mind when she saw Sylar. God, was she stuck in some kind of Peanuts cartoon, Charlie Brown Style? Was every damn thing literally exploding in her face? Now she had to deal with Sylar… speaking of Sylar, why wasn't he wearing a shirt? Why was she staring at his chest? It was probably because she was surprised… yeah… surprised for damn sure. She'd always had a thing for lanky guys; overmuscled was not her cup of tea per se. But on Sylar she could just barely see the outline of a six pack, so she really couldn't blame herself…

Hold. The. Phone.

No. No. No. No. Nonononononononononononono! She was not attracted to Sylar. This was not happening right now. Just because he had "turned from the Dark Side," as Peter had put it into nerd terms, did _not_ mean that the sudden desire to lick a path from Sylar's navel to his neck was at all acceptable. Before Claire could continue her mental tirade against herself and her hormones he answered her previous attempt at a greeting.

"I'm house sitting. Pete and Emma went to Las Vegas for the weekend. I figured Pete would have told you before he left," Sylar causally leaned against the doorframe of the hallway as he talked to her.

"I…. I…" Had she talked to Peter? Days ago, before she found out her dad was a big piece of shit. Peter had mumbled something about Vegas and Emma in the same sentence. "Yeah, I guess he did." God, her brain was melting.

He was assessing her, again, trying figure her out, she knew. What did he see when he looked at her? Why did he always look at her like he knew something she didn't? Again he broke her thought process, "So, what the hell is wrong with you?"

* * *

She was, to put it mildly, distraught, that much was clear, obviously more so now because he was here and not her precious Peter. He supposed his question had been rather unfeeling, but damnit, she had just woken him up. Frustrated and just generally pissy, he dragged his hand through his hair once, struggling to wake up. There were other serious problems facing him as well: the fact that he was caffeine deficient at quarter to four in the goddamn morning, his freaking nipples were rock hard because it was freezing in this damn apartment, additionally he was staring down a really pissed woman who was probably about to berate him for sleeping on his best (read as _only_) friend's couch and feeding his damn cat.

Her jaw had dropped at his question. "Are you _kidding_ me? What's wrong with _you_, Captain Bloodlust? I can't take your bullshit on top of everything else," she said as she turned for the door, righteous indignation pouring off her in waves.

"Sorry Claire," he sighed and gave a half-hearted attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes, "You just woke me up. Let's just calm down," Sylar ran his hand through his sleep tousled hair again, "Just tell me what is bothering you."

Somewhere in the back of her mind a dam broke. She had to talk to someone, anyone, and quick. If she were being honest with herself, Sylar would _really_ understand better than most. "He's hunting us! My dad is hunting us down!" she yelled, the end of her sentence dissolved into a cross between a moan and a yell as she began to cry in earnest.

The locks slammed into place as the dresser screeched across the floor to block the doorway. Throughout the apartment she could hear windows and doors slamming shut. The tired and surly look that he had been wearing was replaced in an instant with calculating assessment as he took two strides toward her, "How long has he been chasing you? How far behind is he? I won't let him hurt you, Claire, father or not."

He was right in front of her, in her personal space, taking up all her air. All Claire could do was stand there, rooted in place. Christ, who knew serial killers could smell so good? Now with that fierce look her problems became his. Every thought he had was fixated on her and her protection. Somewhere in Claire's mind she felt an almost lost part of her psyche screaming, the hunter was here, and may God protect any who would attempt to fuck with what was his.

* * *

Sylar's mind had kicked into overdrive. He could feel his original ability analyzing the problem, viewing it from countless angles, spinning out scenarios and calculating probabilities. He had known that Bennet would become a problem eventually. However he had figured he had at least one or two years to try and live in the brave new world that Claire had given them. Wrong again, Sylar. Of course Bennet would go after Claire, an incredibly easy target to capture, especially when she called once or twice a week with an update on her daughterly activities.

So moving Claire was the obvious priority. As his mind ran through a list of possibilities he realized she was talking again. Not only was she talking but she had put her hand on his arm, obviously attempting to get his attention, "Sylar, are you listening?"

He looked down at her hand, when she followed his gaze and noticed her hand's precarious position she pulled it back with the speed of a cheetah, "Sorry… sorry," she began, "I wasn't very clear. When I told you he was hunting us I meant _us_, the evolved. Not you or me, specifically. He's out there, bagging and tagging strangers, people who should get a normal life like everyone else. We are not freaks," she smiled and sniffled just a little and whipped her nose on the sleeve of her blouse, "Well, _some_ of us are into brains and that's pretty freaky."

He smiled back at her, genuinely shocked that she had touched him, of her own violation. Double shocked as she had attempted a joke… a vaguely creepy joke nonetheless. "Fair enough, cheerleader."

"I don't know what to do," Claire said quietly, "I'm so confused, and you being here does not help at all. He is supposed to be the good guy, but he's not. At the end of the day, no matter how I turn it and view it, he refuses to budge, refuses to change, and refuses to be anything than what he once was. You're the flip of his coin, bad guy turned hero," she looked up at him then, right into his brown eyes, "At least that's what Peter tells me."

"Come on, I'll make some tea and tell you whatever you want to know. I'm a different man now, Claire." he turned and headed to the kitchen before she could respond.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This is me, owning nothing…

AN2: Mega thanks for any and all reviews and enjoy!

Chapter 2

'_Tea_?' Where was she? Bizarro world? What's next? Would he knit her a sweater or two? This was ri-goddamn-diculous. Another ridiculous thing was Claire's own behavior in the past few minutes. Had her brain taken a fucking holiday? Touching Sylar? On her own nonetheless! No puppet powers to blame this on, she had touched him. C_aressed_ his arm, if she was being completely honest with herself, and that was just plain unacceptable. This was the brain poker! The ability thief! The bio-dad/mom/childhood-best-friend murder! Yet here she was, checking out his ass as she followed him to the kitchen. Claire slapped her face into her palm, hard.

Yeah… this was _soooo_ not good.

* * *

Sylar chuckled very, very quietly to himself as he heard what could only be the sound of a facepalm, followed by a muttered swear. He had thrown her a curve, he knew, she was incredibly easy to read. One of the things he had always admired about Claire was her backbone, her inability to give up. He knew she would follow him, just as he knew that fate had tossed him a slow easy pitch right down the center.

There were a couple reasons why interacting with Claire on a personal level was not exactly easy for him to accomplish, the first, her dad would shoot him, probably 50 or 60 times in rapid succession. Additionally Sylar had personal goals of his own that had nothing to do with Claire, which he was working on a semi-daily basis. Sylar was busy searching for spectacular abilities to empathize into his arsenal.

Two days after what Sylar personally referred to as F-day, he had high-tailed it to New Orleans. It had taken him 7 minutes and 21 seconds to empathize with that Sanders kid. Sylar had figured with their shared, "Oh my mom is dead," angst it would be pretty easy, but that giant 'issue' never reared its ugly and painful head. When he had arrived, Micah had not been surprised to see him in the least. He had been greeted with excited preteen ramblings, "Holy crap, Sylar! Did you see what Claire did? I can't believe it! I youtubed it like 400 times! Oh man, everything is gonna change all over again! Maybe we can really come into the open and stuff, ya know?"

Sylar had then been dragged swiftly into the house and interrogated by a 14-year-old. After giving the kid his personal run down of Claire's jump, he had been sucked into the world of video games by a clear expert, who introduced Sylar to the cathartic wonders of Super Smash Brothers. In all honesty the kid wasn't that bad, he worked hard on his ability, was damn smart and had a gaggle of little, ability toting friends, with whom Micah was fighting crime with, "X-Men Style" as the kid put it. Before he knew it, Sylar was spending the night on the couch and was wrangled into an epic video game tournament the next morning.

Sylar had spent the following weeks exclusively chasing down new abilities, which had been much easier once he had technological manipulation at his disposal. God bless the Internet. As the hunger plagued him, he had come to find that the acquisition and learning of a new power would ease the burn for a decent amount of time. He was currently coasting a wave of a significant power acquisition that he figured would last a couple of months at the least.

But the _main_ reason it was hard to interact with Claire was because she wanted nothing to do with him.

Granted, he supposed she was justified, but Sylar was a firm believer in the old adage, "Time heals all wounds." He had figured with eternity on his side he would have to wait a couple decades or so until she would _really_ talk to him. His original plan had been good, stupendous if he said so himself, using time as his ultimate weapon, until he became the only remnant of her old life that remained; her only touchstone in a cold, dark and lonely future.

Right now, he just wanted to start doing a victory dance. His entire timetable of seducing, wooing and generally having Claire as his own had been pushed forward quite a bit. The fact that she was still in the apartment and hadn't stormed out like a 4-year-old had been surprising, as that had been her reaction to his presence the other two times they had run into each other since F-Day.

During the _alone_ years, before Peter, with her face stalking him from his own arm in an empty world, like some kind of cruel joke, he came to the conclusion that if he was going to ever truly have her, he would have to wait. She would have to come to him, this was the only way the relationship could ever be real, given it could take years, but Sylar wanted _Claire_, not some ruined version that he forced into submission. Claire's beauty was in her bravery and her spirit and those were two things Sylar would never take from his girl.

Often to pass the time in that empty world, he would troll through his mental files for images of her, adjusting and toying with the ways she would look or react to thousands of scenarios. Never did he consider that offering her a cup of tea would be a turning point of any type of relevance in their life together, but fate has a funny way of taking the path least expected.

* * *

As she walked into the kitchen he had already reached the counter and set the tea to boil. She stood on the other side of the kitchen's island and began dancing her fingers rapidly across the tabletop. This was weird, Domestic Type Sylar was something Claire never thought she would see. "So… never took you for a tea-drinker."

Sylar turned around to face her from the stove, "Tea is delicious, Claire, and very good for you. Tea sooths the nerves, helps maintain a health immune system and generally improves longevity," he smirked at her then, "I also have a minor obsession with certain aspects of British pop culture."

"Okay then," the incessant finger taping stopped for a moment. There were bigger fish to fry here than Sylar as a "normal" guy. She looked up at him, "How did you know? I mean, you were not at all surprised about Noah when I told you. Is my dad such a fucking bad guy? Did you use your magic bad-guy radar? Am I the only one who thought he wasn't?" she flicked a single stray tear from the corner of her eye, "Am I just that stupid?"

"It has nothing to do with being stupid, Claire. Maybe a little naïve," he shrugged slightly, "but that's part of your charm. It's natural to believe in parents, the parents of your heart, but the world is not black and white and sometimes the fallout is impossible to see from the blast, kiddo," he walked over to the island and set a plate full of cookies in front of her, "I'm not making excuses or trying to placate you. Obviously you are convinced of his guilt, I would like to hope you have significant reason, but Bennet operates under a different moral code than the rest of us."

Claire scoffed as loud as she could, grabbed a cookie and rolled her eyes, "Moral code, my ass! What a crock, coming from you of all people…" Jesus, he had to be fucking kidding. "I'm just tired of his justifying every damn thing he ever does," She was pacing now, from one side of the island to the other, gesturing madly with the cookie, "No one should have to explain everything! It's worse because he _always_ lies. Did you know he almost burned up my mom's brain? Just to keep his precious secrets… her mind, her soul was worthless to him! How can you do that to someone you should love?"

She suddenly wanted to tell Sylar that her father had never loved her mother at all… that Sandra had just been one more layer to his cover. Just one more poor sap in the wrong place and wrong time in the Noah Bennet timeline. Before she could let one more cat out of the bag, he was answering her.

"Most people can't, but I think your father cannot see the line between protection and suffocation. In my experience, his intentions toward you have never been purposely harmful."

Claire started laughing hysterically then, "Did you forget about the vortex disaster! Let me remind you: my dad attempted to use me as a pawn to destroy you via Stephen Canfield, yet another person who hadn't done any damn thing either! Then I had to be rescued by the likes of _you_!" Tears were freefalling from her eyes when she looked right at him, "I thought I would die when you touched me. I wanted you to die, it didn't matter that you had saved me, I still just wanted your pain. Maybe I am my father's daughter."

She was exhausted. Even thinking about the whole vortex mess made Claire sick to her stomach. That day had been the rudest awakening of Claire's entire life. Saved by her enemy, sacrificed by her father… What the fuck was up with that? The worst part of it all, Sylar _had_ been right, they would always be freaks to Noah… every last one of them, Claire included.

"Claire, Claire, Claire… being terrified of me a few days after I ripped that beautiful ability from your brain is not the same thing as carrying a grudge against a whole sub-species of humanity. Sorry to tell you muffin, but your daddy is never going to be a crusader for the rights of the evolved," Sylar said as his trademark smirk took over his entire face, "I don't know why he hates us all, but something colors his decisions when it comes to us. He would have hid us from the world forever. But you changed all that. You changed the whole goddamn world, Claire. I would guess that your dad has distanced himself from you significantly since the jump. You took his fatherhood away, Claire, because he can never protect you from what comes next."

"What the hell are you talking about? 'What comes next?'" She rolled her eyes overdramatically, "Ooohh, so scary Mr. Ominous! What's that supposed to mean anyways?" Bastard was talking in damn riddles!

Sylar leaned across the island, inches from her face, and whispered, "Do you think I'm the only boogeyman out there, Claire? You're just so damn naïve. Do you honestly think that your power wouldn't call to the weakest and strongest of men? Anyone with the ability to empathize, copy or steal abilities will be after you! You may not believe it, but there are worse evils than me in this world, dark and cold people with nothing to lose and an eternity to gain. Governments, privatized corporations, hell, any damn old person will _covet_ what you are and attempt to acquire it for themselves, no matter the cost."

Claire crossed her arms over her chest, "You can't know that. Not everyone is like you, you know."

Sylar mockingly copied the motion, "Wanna bet, Princess? Since the beginning of human consciousness man has unerringly chased the ultimate prize… immortality. I shudder to think of the logistics of your protection, especially from a father's point of view."

"I don't need to be protected! God save me from overbearing men!" Claire threw her hands into the air, "No one needs to be protected _less_ than me."

Sylar turned back to the stove and drug their freshly poured tea from the counter to the island with his telekinesis, "You're right, Claire. What was I thinking?" Sylar hit himself on the forehead in a "duh" motion while Claire watched that damned smirk return with a vengeance, "I mean, what immortal person would possibly be concerned about imprisonment?" Grey walls, itchy uniforms and the memories of seemingly endless monotony overwhelmed him. "An imprisonment that could last _fucking centuries_?" his voice had tripled in volume, his own private fears evident in his words and he took a calming breath before continuing, "But you're right, Claire, I'm sure the entire medical community doesn't even care about watching your lungs re-grow a billion times."

Sylar circled to her side of the island, mug in hand, tone now curious and captivating, "How long would you last, I wonder? How many pokes, prods and cuts would it take before your mind gave up? How many broken bones would it take to crack into your soul, little cheerleader?"

He was literally a breath away from her, physically, and she could smell him again, damnit, and it was interfering with her thought process. Shouldn't he smell like old eggs or sewage? Claire thought that would be fair if committing a gaggle of murders would have some kind of terrible side effect and the universe would just balance itself out. Instead it was a freaking party for her nose; the forest meets musk for hormonal euphoria.

His words had pulled her toward him emotionally in a way she had never expected. It was, to put it mildly, irritating that he _understood_. No one had ever understood her in her entire life. She tried not to think about the lab-rat prisons, organ harvesting camps or baby-making stations that could very well be her future. He had hit the nail on the head, summed up all they really had to ever worry about… well, except for an eternity of loneliness.

"I had to! There is no hiding _this_!" She shook her head, "The secrets were suffocating me, suffocating us all! That's part of the reason that Samuel was able to manipulate all those people. I just want a life," she sighed, "My own life. We can all have the life we want in the open. I'm tired of hiding, I'm tired of running. I won't again. Enough is enough."

"Understandable," he relaxed himself back against the island and sipped his tea, "But you have to be careful Claire. Eternity can be a gift or a curse. I'm telling you from personal experience, a cell is a really bad place to be. The only thing worse..." he shook his head, stopping himself, she didn't need to know what _alone_ really was, and as long as he was here she would never find out, no one should experience that kind of crushing loneliness, "Well you don't have to worry about that, because no psychic cops are mad pissed at you."

She turned towards him, "Peter said it was worse than the virus future, worse than our exposed future... worse than anything."

"It was." he laughed once, even though it wasn't funny at all, "After I had gotten my own goddamn body back," being trapped in Claire's bio-dad's body had been hell on a number of levels and was not something he wanted to discuss with her. It had been hell constantly fighting himself and the man they had forced him to be, "I figured it couldn't get any worse than that. I was very wrong."

"How long were you alone?" Peter had tried to tell her months ago about his "years" with Sylar, but she had flat out refused to hear about Sylar's supposed redemption, "Peter said he lived years with you, in the span of a few hours."

He looked right at her, "Peter arrived 876 days, 4 hours and 13 minutes after me."

"Shit," Claire really didn't know what to say. It was a mindfuck to ponder.

He smiled at her and clapped his hands together, "Enough of that shit, Negative Nancy. It's really damn late and that's just not something I would like to talk about right now."

"Well, I should probably let you sleep," she smiled at him, surprised at herself, "I never thought I'd say this to you, but I'm glad you were here."

"Listen, it's late, you shouldn't be out," he held up his hand when she opened her mouth to object, "I know, I know, overbearing, but Pete would get mad at me if I let you leave alone. Why don't you just sleep on the couch? I'll take the recliner. That way I don't have to walk your ass home," he yawned and scratched the back of his head twice.

Claire sighed, "Fine, but I demand more tea and delicious cookies in the morning."

Sylar headed for the living room, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah, Emma made me about 14 types of delicious desserts before they left. She's the best."

'What the hell was he doing now? More importantly, why couldn't he just put on a goddamn shirt?' Claire thought. This creepy attraction to him was incredibly disconcerting, and now here he was stretching and she was staring. There had been a moment in the kitchen where she thought she had lost her mind, she had _wanted _him, and for about half a second there it had been pretty mentally dicey. The impulse to lean toward him had been damn near overwhelming, just to see what he tasted like.

The TV was still on when they walked into the living room and Sylar collapsed on the right side of the couch, "Well, looks like sleep is going to have to wait. We've got about twenty-three minutes left in this episode, then we can sleep."

Claire looked at the screen and saw a tall, curly-haired guy with the longest scarf she had ever seen. He was crouched between some sort of consul and a tiny grey garbage can, "Why is he talking to a garbage can?"

He turned around on the couch and faced her with a rather distraught look, "Claire, that's K-9. He's not a garbage can; he is a super intelligent robot dog. You really need some culture, you know that?"

"Culture?" Claire headed for the TV and pointed to the sets, "Sylar, this looks like 70s retrograde action. What's with Scarfy? Does he trip on that thing all the time? Look, it's all wrapped up around his feet. That's just silly, what if he needs to run somewhere? What the hell are you watching?"

Sylar shook his head, "This is Doctor Who, Claire, and it is only an institution of British sci-fi glory. Sit the hell down, cause I'm about to change your whole life."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: So the further I get into this story... I feel its going to be longer than I anticipated... and I really intended to get to the PLOT this chapter, honest. But... it didn't turn out that way. Originally this chapter was half this size, and completely different to be honest, but these two... ah well... tell me what you think... Reviews=the BOMB, and thanks for readin'!

AN2: OH! WAIT! YOU MUST KNOW! I own nothing... not DW, not Sylar or Claire... les sigh...

CHAPTER 3

A couple hours later...

Sylar and Claire were sitting Indian style on opposite ends of the couch facing each other with a pecan pie between them.

"So, you're telling me that Scarfy dies?" Claire stabbed her fork into the pie, Sylar had been right on point with Emma's confections. "Why did you give me his awesomeness only to take it away?"

"He regenerates, it's different. He gets a whole new body, quirks and personality, but always retains his general essence of awesomeness and badassery."

"But he's not Scarfy…" Stupid Sylar with his damn additive TV show.

"Right, but he's still 'The Doctor.'"

"Check," Claire slanted her eyes towards the blinds where the offensive sunlight was encroaching into the room. If anyone had told her yesterday that she was going to spend her Friday night watching sci-fi adventures and chatting with Sylar, she would have called them an idiot.

Turns out, Claire was the idiot around here... He was easy to talk to, surprisingly funny, insightful to an extreme and terrifyingly perceptive. He'd told her of his endearing obsession of "Doctor Who" from his childhood, and despite herself she could easily picture a tiny, innocent Sylar pondering the wonders of time and space, flying imaginary ships around his living room.

He'd seemingly accidentally mentioned his mother once in passing, as she had been apparently been the one to introduce him to the show when he was just 4-years-old, he'd told Claire in hushed tones. Sylar had subsequently gone eerily silent, and Claire assumed there was some terrible serial-killer-story that had made him clam up for the _only_ time in about 4 hours. Then... lord in heaven... She'd felt compelled to give him a hug and at that point, she had literally pinched herself, attempting to get a fuckin' grip of some kind.

This feeling had led Claire to yet another big problem rumbling around in her terribly conflicted mind … the comfort level. Sylar and 'comfort" should not live in the same sentence. Oh, but they did. The first ten minutes on the couch, she had sat with her back iron straight, limiting her responses to one word, hoping he would fall asleep so she could just go home. But then...she had been seriously sucked in. Claire had never really been one for sci-fi television, it's true, but it didn't take long for her to see a uniqueness and depth that wasn't in a lot of shows.

Nonetheless, regarding Sylar, Claire was generally doing anything to maintain her super cool and aloof façade. Claire sighed loudly because said façade had fallen apart mere minutes after being constructed as he had discreetly pried her open with wit, feeling and humor. When he wasn't being a creepy-ass serial killer/stalker/power stealer it was baffling how easy it was to relax around him. Claire had no idea what, but something had changed in him on an elemental level. He was relaxed in a way she had never seen, just maybe, there was some truth to this redemption that Peter had prattled on about.

Oh, and did she happen to mention that he was really, just terribly, unfairly, hot? Damn, damn and double damn. It was truly wrong that he was this attractive. It was bad enough that his damnable eyes were just so dark… so bloody _focused_, all the time… despite his "relax-itude" he was still... Sylar. A few times she'd locked eyes with him for a few seconds and those eyes just kept sucking her precious resolve down the proverbial drain.

Of course he had remained shirtless the whole damn time… Claire was beginning to think it was purposeful. Claire had caught herself staring multiple times at the flat plane of his stomach, just barely rippling with muscle. Later she'd had to force herself to look away from the curve of skin where his neck met his shoulder, because her gaze kept wandering there, distracting her from critical plot points with the desire to nuzzle into him. Where was the justice, Universe? Does "**Murderer**" mean nothing to you Libido? She had tried to stop noticing… she really had.

She had failed miserably.

For crying out loud, who knew that it would be _fun_ hanging out with Sylar? That was actually the worst part of this whole business, she was genuinely having a great time… alone… with Sylar. Claire was swiftly coming to the conclusion that she was in trouble if she didn't get out of here stat. She just needed some fresh air, and then this madness would pass… she could go back to hating him, ignoring him and everything would be great.

* * *

Sylar really couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. It was getting a little frustrating. She was still here. That was weird. She hadn't stabbed a sharp implement in his eye. That was weirder. She had sat happily 3 feet from him for hours… and if he didn't know any better he could have swore that she had been checking him out… multiple times. That was the weirdest.

It hadn't taken long for Claire to ask him a boat load of questions about the show. She was curious, intelligent and obviously interested despite herself. He had had to start the whole episode over, in order to explain from the beginning of the story arc. She had relaxed more and more as the sun had come up. They had discussed the intricacies of time travel, favorite TV shows of childhood, favorite pies and the awesomeness of having a robot dog. He estimated he was ahead of schedule by about 100 years.

"So… I think I'm going to head out," Claire stood and stretched, which of course, drew his attention to her incredible breasts pressed taut against the black fabric of her top. Damn, she was beautiful. He was going to end up spending eternity beating the punks off of her with a fucking stick.

A few times he had wondered if it was part of her ability had made her so unbelievably attractive. Maybe her DNA was just the optimal genetic possibility of woman-kind. He should look into that… Suresh would probably know… not that the bastard would tell Sylar anything. Everybody's gotta hold a grudge…

"Okay, you want me to make a pot of tea before you hit the road?" She had asked for it after all and if it would keep her there for 10 more minutes, that was just a bonus.

"No!" she exclaimed then cleared her throat, "I mean, no thanks, I've got tons of stuff to do today."

* * *

She had to get out of here _right_ _now_. Out, out, out, now, now, now. The situation was seriously serious here. No more fucking around, her resolve was crumbling like the Berlin Wall. Claire headed for the hallway like her shoes were on fire.

Sylar followed her down the hall, "Are you going to be okay? About Noah and stuff? We didn't really get back to it after your initial rant…"

Oh God, she had completely forgotten about the problem that had gotten her here in the first place. Claire sighed and massaged her temples, "I suppose. I think I'm going to form a resistance against his stupid kidnapping ways. I don't know... I 'll figure something out. I guess I'll just learn some fighting moves or something…" God, her inherent ability was suck for rescue missions.

Sylar had got in front of her and had his hand on the doorknob to let her out of the apartment. "You should probably think that one through a little more, girlie," He was right there and just smiling at her, dark eyes drawing her in with sincerity. Damnit, he just looked so happy and approachable. She felt her stomach drop to her knees.

"Fuck it," Claire whispered, her thoughts scattered and her hand was spearing into his hair and dragging him down to her.

* * *

Sylar was shell shocked.

…For approximately .157 seconds. The following 3.698 seconds he used to appreciate the _feel/taste/essence_ of her, something he had been fully prepared to wait for. He was using his original ability for all it was worth, analyzing each subtle move she made. At the end of the day, the telekinesis would always be Sylar's favorite ability but he _really_ enjoyed his intuitive aptitude. The ability was much more varied and applicable than anyone thought. It had added a whole new level of appreciation of nearly every facet of his life, once he had learned the intricacies of the ability, and his sex life was definitely one of those areas.

Every person, even his Claire, had rules that they ran by, and once his ability understood those rules... then he could manipulate any system he understood. He was really looking forward to learning all of Claire... her brain had been an amazing treat in and of itself, but _**her**_, that's what he needed, what he craved. He could still taste the sweetness of the pie and it blended with her own unique taste even better than he had imagined… hell, he had obsessed over the taste of her for about 124 days in his hell.

Second 4 of the kiss comprised of Sylar coming to the determination that no one touched her but him _ever_ again. No one would ever compare to what she was to him. He had made a promise to Peter, that he would stop killing, and he fully intended to keep that promise. Unless someone touched what was his... then... well... Peter would forgive him eventually.

In the middle of second 5, she moaned and it echoed through his head, snapping any semblance of control he might have hoped to maintain. His hands fisted into her hair and his tongue dove between her lips. She belonged to him and sweet God, she tasted like glory…

* * *

Good thing she was immortal because Claire was going to hell, seventh circle variety, the part that's reserved for betrayers. God, the Devil, Buddha or any deity you cared to pray to was coming for her ass with a vengeance.

She couldn't have cared less.

As the word: "WOW," reverberated on an endless loop in her mind, she felt her arms and hands going wild. She had to touch him… Jesus, she _needed_ to touch him everywhere. She was clawing at his back with one hand, grabbing at his arm with the other, maybe trying to pull him closer, maybe trying to pull him apart, she didn't know. His tongue was caressing hers, matching her intensity as she pressed herself against him, desperate for more contact, more feeling, more of whatever was happening to her, more, please, God. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and nipped it, moaning as the sensation sent a surge of lust through her.

On one level she was attempting to analyze his technique, she felt so fucking good... she... she felt... oh God... he made her feel... but her thoughts just kept scattering. One of his hands had begun almost lazily stroking her neck while the other cupped her hip, hooking one finger in her belt loop, pulling her ever closer toward him. She was doomed. He was destroying her for all other men, it was like he was consuming her, learning her and rebuilding her all at once.

* * *

Jesus… fantasy could never compare to reality. Touching Claire was everything he had expected, almost everything he had ever dreamed about, except her skin was softer and the sounds she made sexier than he had ever hoped. After the moan that had broke him, she had let out a half-sigh that had made him rock hard in an instant. Sylar had never anticipated that Claire be as… vivacious as she turned out to be. Her hips were arching up towards him, her upper body accented perfectly by her movements, God bless a cheerleader body. He could feel her short nails digging into his arm, leading his sexually focused brain into a frenzy of fantasy. He moving his tongue against hers with the fervor of a man possessed. He was going to ruin her, he was going to mark her, claim her, take her.

He was over analyzing every moment… doing his best to solidify this into his memory.

Oh, Jeez, how lame could he possibly be? Now he felt like he was trapped in some kind of hokey romance novel. Snap out of it Sylar! He had to play it cool, for the love of God!

Any second now, she was probably going to turn into a raving mad-woman, desperate for a quick eye stab. Sylar needed to take back control of this situation right this minute, before it exploded in his face. She had surprised him… and that would not happen again. It was time to turn the tables.

"Claire," he whispered her name against her lips, and she opened her glazed eyes to look at him, her breath caught in her throat. Sylar grazed his lips across hers once more and gently cupped her face with both hands, and in the same quiet voice, "This is the part where I say something terribly witty, charming and/or emotionally easing, and you don't get really, really angry at either of us."

Claire blinked twice, "I… I..."

What the fuck was she supposed to do now? GOD! Obviously she had overplayed her hand… oh God… she'd just made out with Sylar! Oh God, fuck…

"Umm…" Claire's brain stubbornly refused to restart.

Sylar chuckled and kissed her quickly on the forehead, "Well, you're not pissed. That's good."

She looked up at him and fixed a scowl on her face, "Good? Nothing about this is good." She knew that much for sure!

Sylar smiled indulgently, "Of course not, Claire."

Now she was just confused. "Huh?" Obviously full sentences were still slightly beyond her cogitative capacity.

He opened the door and backed her into the hallway, "We could stand here and fight about this, and I'm sure it would be very stimulating, albeit time-consuming. But that's unnecessary as I would like to think you are completely aware that you are mine." he didn't even pause to let her respond to that crazy stalker talk, "So you can just go home and get some damn sleep, and I will get a hold of you later."

Woah, what the _**hell**_ was going on here! How had things gotten so far out of her control? Her hands went to her hips before she could think about it, "Are you seriously kicking me out?"

"Yeah," he smiled at her one last time, kissed her on the forehead again before she could even think to evade and slammed the door in her face.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: So... legit, I've been busting ass on this thing. I also won't lie about being severely distracted by StarCraft 2. Originally the awesome interlude was part of this chapter... but I think it worked out better to split it into smaller pieces, so read the Interlude for sure, as there is critical info there. Anyways... Enjoy! Reviews are like delicious candies... I always could have more!

I own nothing... also, always beware of language, adult themes and eventual smuttastic action.

CHAPTER 4

What the _fuck _had just happened here? Claire stood, jaw dropped, truly flabbergasted and incredibly aroused in front of the slammed door, completely at a loss for words. Oh man, oh man, oh boy... oh jeez... she... he... OH MAN! Are you kidding me? I mean, seriously? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Did that really just happen?

Did _Sylar_, her own personal stalker, just brush her off?

What the hell was happening to her life? Had she entered the fuckin' Twilight Zone?

Yes.

Yes, she had. Here in the Twilight Zone, Sylar was a fun, intriguing, smart... and god forgive her, a sweet guy. This was the crazy ass Twilight Zone where Claire was _choosing _of her own personal violation to make out with with him.

Good God in Heaven, what was **_wrong _**with her?

Claire shook her head. She was so not dealing with this right now. It was time to pull herself together. This really was a problem for another day. Her asshole dad was probably out there, throwing some poor unsuspecting sap into a cage for the rest of their life... and here she was, bitchin' and moaning about her sexual relationship with a serial killer... just freaking fabulous.

She was Claire fucking Bennet, the indestructible girl and she needed to get back to her original mission, "Get out of here, stat."

She would have plenty of time to berate herself for this... later.

Conveniently enough, as Claire was mumbling her way down the hall, the elevator arrived on the floor and opened. The woman inside was incredibly tall and rail-thin, with midnight black hair falling around her shoulders. She was dressed in a gorgeous red dress that Claire was completely and totally jealous of. Although personally Claire thought the dress was a little risqué for 7:30 in the morning. The girl smiled hugely at Claire, bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she swaggered out of the elevator. She was older than Claire's eternal body by a few years or so and toting an over sized bright purple over-night bag and a giant lime green purse.

Claire smiled reflexively at the girl and entered the elevator and jammed at the button repeatedly, immediately resuming her mental tirade. ARGH! Hell was probably too good for the likes of Claire. So what if kissing Sylar had been the hottest thing that had ever happened in her entire freaking life? It had been hot like the fire of a thousand suns, hot like the fiery surface of Venus, hot like... something else ridiculously hot, and god help her, even now, through a haze of self-loathing, she wanted more. She had felt like she was burning alive, and so what if touching him had felt like dying... the only sensation that had ever been real in the world of Claire Bennet. Terrifyingly enough, there had been... feeling... oh god, so much of it, it had been earth-shattering. Surely no one could live feeling that much. It was for Sylar, of all people in the whole damn world... why, oh why did it have to be him?

Why couldn't just one little thing in her life be halfway normal? She could just have a normal crush, on a normal person... not that she had a crush on Sylar at all... SHIT. This thread of thinking was clearly getting her nowhere. Despite herself she just kept thinking about when his lips had pressed against hers; it had been like he'd been hiding in her blood, lurking in her soul, just waiting for the moment to strike. She felt like she was a little piece of driftwood, caught by the tide that was Sylar, doomed never to see land again. God now she was thinking in lame metaphors... she was totally effed!

She was so scared to think that all the crazy talk he had been spouting in the classroom had been completely true. He'd been so matter-of-fact, with his stupid chalkboard, his damn little T-chart. Jesus, maybe he was onto something, that they were the same... two sides of a coin; a battered, broken and abandoned coin, linked together despite all odds. He had told her that wonderful/terrible sensation of feeling was gone on that fateful day where he had told her that she was even more freakish than the rest, an anomaly in a world of impossibilities. She had learned today that he had been very wrong about that. Claire had _felt _something today, you could take that to the bank. Claire was very worried that this particular something might just be beyond her control.

Surely, though, today's disaster had been a fluke of circumstance... an emotional roller coaster ride combined with close proximity and freak hormonal weakness. She had just terribly defiled the memory of her biological parents and childhood best friend, not to mention a whole pile of poor innocent bastards. Claire had vowed to hunt that bastard for the rest of her days... and just look how that was turning out for her.

Honestly... she had to be the biggest idiot in the whole world, and that was only reaffirmed as she heard the giant-stick girl pound on an apartment door. Claire looked through the closing elevator doors to see the gorgeous stranger knocking on Peter and Emma's door, calling out, "Hey, Sy! It's Mac. Open up!"

The elevator had closed on that note. Claire took a deep breath and slammed her hand onto the emergency stop. Well... if that wasn't just a kick in the nuts. She spent the next 5 minutes yelling her lungs raw as she gave into a tsunami of wicked powerful anger.

What a pile of bullshit! That fucking smirky RAT BASTARD! First First Lady my ass!

Then when she realized she had left her purse, keys and cell phone at Peter's, she pounded her head repeatedly against the wall of the elevator, frustrated beyond any previous imaginings and stuck between a rock and a hard place.

* * *

Well... that couldn't possibly have gone any better. Sylar was, to put it mildly, pleased with the way things had turned out. Claire Bennet had... attacked him. That fire in her eyes had almost burned him as she had given into some inner demon and dragged him to her. It had been glorious. Everything was falling into place now.

He honestly couldn't get over the fact that she had been the one to kiss him; the classroom experiment set aside as that business was just an integral part of Lydia's ability. He'd really never imagined their first _actual _kiss would be Claire's doing.

Fuck yes!

God, and her face as he had closed the door had been PRICELESS.

Keeping Claire off-balance was going to be key in the next few weeks, he knew. After all, her stubborn attitude was one of the best things about Claire. She would walk her path, regardless of what her father, uncle or a general sense of normalcy may dictate. Sylar did believe beyond all else, that together, they balanced each other... he was continuously pulling her toward an inevitable future, while she held close the past and created a sense of placement and reality within a world that was unreal.

Regardless, she would love him, by God... and sooner, rather than later if Sylar had anything to say about it. In the world according to Sylar, their eventual union was fact, and no douchebag was going to sneak in from the sidelines and ruin his eternity. She'd been surprised by his statement of ownership towards her as she left. Sylar really felt she should know better, as though he had been pretty damn clear. No woman except Claire would be acceptable.

And... joy of joys... what a treat the future might hold for him! He had been expecting that Bennet would be dead in the ground long before he would be able to put his true focus on Claire. Oh, the mere thought of Bennet knowing that Sylar was touching his little girl, that was a treat Sylar had resigned himself to missing out on. Now it seemed like he just might get to give Noah Bennet, his own personal life ruiner, the ultimate finger, by fucking his precious Claire-Bear. Additionally, depending on the severity of this whole "kidnapping special people" situation, some video and/or photographical evidence could be some icing on the cake that Sylar might just get to give to his most annoying and manipulative of enemies.

But before he worried about that, he was going to take a few more moments to really appreciate the excellence of his current position. Like water after a journey through the desert, tasting her had been torture in a way, to have everything he wanted at his fingertips, his precious Claire... the only thing he couldn't just _take_ for himself, was trying to say the least. Patience was a virtue that really needed to be cultivated by one particular mass murder for the time being.

She was intense in an incredibly sexy way that he hadn't anticipated. Jesus, just thinking about it had him hard all over again. She obviously had some pent-up issues rumbling around in that psyche that he would enjoy exploring and exploiting. She was just so interesting. How could two people with such similar beginnings come to such different points in such a short time period? She chose to save and hold close all the fragile humans in her life, fighting a battle that she could never hope to win. Sylar knew Claire was the only real constant he could ever hope to hold. His obsession with Claire had really been a cross to bear, an obstacle he thought would take decades to climb... but here he was, in his favorite position... the position of power.

God, he felt fucking amazing right now.

Now it was finally time for a sleep that would put Rip Van Winkle to shame. It was about fuckin' time.

With a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, Sylar headed for the couch. He hadn't taken two steps toward the living room when he heard the knock on the door. Assuming it was Claire, refusing to leave, he was about to head to the couch anyway, politeness be damned. He was going to sleep, goddamnit.

Then he heard, "Sy" he knew it could only be one person before she even said her name. There was only one woman who wasn't so incredibly intimidated by him that she would dare to give him a nickname of all things. Heaving a giant sigh, he turned back towards the door. He knew there was no way Mackenzie Desmond was leaving until she talked to him, her stubbornness was right up there with his own favorite cheerleader. Sylar also knew that Mac wouldn't just show up at Peter and Emma's apartment for nothing... sociable was not the first adjective he would use to describe her. Something was afoot and he just hoped he could take a damn nap before the shit hit the fan.

* * *

"I'm being stalked." Mac said without preamble, tossing her bags to the floor with considerable force.

"Christ, Mac," Sylar sighed, Mac had a tendency to be overdramatic... often. Side effect of being a female serial killer, Sylar supposed.

She was rooting around in the ridiculous purple bag, "I'm not messing around about this, dude," she pulled out a huge bottle of water and gulped at it before continuing, "Some dream manipulating asshole. And I'll tell you this Sy, when I find the bastard who's doing this, my vengeance is going to be of biblical proportions."

"Fair. You know I'm a big fan of vengeance, but if you could be a little more coherent, as I am fucking exhausted, it would be much appreciated."

Lifting her hand to brush her stray dark hair out of her face and rolling her eyes, she sighed loudly once before speaking obnoxiously slowly, "Some-one is invading my DREAMS. This is B-A-D!"

"Mac, I'd like to think that you can handle one measly dream playing bitch," he massaged his temples in an attempt to thwart the headache that was brewing. Sylar had seen Mackenzie in action. She was currently being hunted by mulitiple private and government organizations. This problem should be well within her control. This being a hero thing was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth.

"Listen Grumpy Gus, everyone's gotta sleep. Obviously you are well aware, and I would like to think with your immortality and all you wouldn't be such a little bitch about a little sleep deprivation. I'm in real trouble here," by this point she had pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels and two matching double shot glasses out of her bag and started making her way into the apartment.

Knowing the routine, Sylar trailed tiredly behind, resigning himself to a day that would never end. This is what you get when you make friends, he thought. At the moment, Sylar couldn't remember one reason why he'd wanted any in the first place. At least loners could sleep once and a while! Jeez, what would he do if he had more than two or three friends? God, his head hurt even worse just pondering on that one.

By the time he had reached the kitchen, she had set the glasses on the island and filled them up to the brim. "I'm scared, Sy," for the first time since she had entered the apartment her eyes had gone dark and serious.

She gestured to his glass, which he grabbed and Mac lifted hers in salute, "Cause its not just me in these dreams who's doomed, it's the whole freaking universe."

They knocked the shots back together, and Sylar felt the beautiful burn shoot through his body and she immediately refilled them, continuing as she poured, "It's three or four variations on the same theme, end of the world, end of time, end of everyone and everything, blah, blah, blah."

Throwing another back, she set her glass down, clearly perturbed and huffed loudly, "As much as I don't wanna say this, I think you need to do that stupid creepy memory power on me, as you are wrapped right up in this mess too," she thrust her hand directly in front of his face, "And you don't be poking where you don't belong, buddy!"

Sylar batted her hand out of his face, "You said you never wanted me to do that to you."

His clairsentience had always really freaked Mac out. She'd explained once that she felt that memories should be just for the owner, always. It was one of the very few powers that Mac had put in the category of, "DO NOT ACQUIRE."

"In fact, I seem to remember you threatening disembowelment and dismemberment a thousand times over for my lanky immortal ass... I'm paraphrasing, of course," Sylar rolled his eyes with supreme sarcasm as he filled the glasses again.

Pissed, she dropped her hand. She started mumbling angrily under her breath and rapidly pacing across the kitchen, the echo of her heels pounding out an extreme staccato beat. After four passes by the island she grabbed the shot glass and tossed it back in one motion. "You're really being a pain in the ass, you know."

Sylar tossed his hands into the air, exasperated, "You have always been very clear on this point, Mac. Whatever secret you don't want me to see is still in there, I might stumble on it, I can't guarantee anything with this stupid power," he huffed, pissed at himself for allowing a power to defeat him even in the slightest of ways. Objects retain so many stray and confusing memories, it was even harder to sift through the memories of an actual person with any type of precision.

Sliding his refilled glass towards him she shook her head sadly at him. "I wish there was another option, Sy, I really do. I don't think we can avoid it. There could be clues, information or tones I'm missing."

Sylar tossed back the next shot and for about 5 heartbeats felt slightly drunk. Sylar and Mac had discovered on one epic night that it was in fact possible to get completely wasted, even in the face of immortality. Sylar had been able to discover exactly how quickly their livers were absorbing the alcohol and using the oxidization aspect of a plant manipulation power it was almost too easy to get completely shitfaced in thirty minutes. Quickly throwing another back he braced himself for her anger, "Mac, I'm not going to do it. Sorry, but you fucking told me not to. I made a promise never to invade your privacy like that Mac, you know I don't take my promises lightly."

"Well... I really didn't want to be the messenger for this one, but whatever," back to the shot glass, grimacing this time as it went down, "So the dream manipulator is not the real problem... he's a side quest, if you will. It's his uber creepy boss guy, who's after me... and your precious tattoo-arm-girl."

Sylar felt his whole body go stiff and real fear surge through him, "You're wrong."

Mac rolled her eyes, "Have I ever been wrong about anything?"

"How do you know?"

"I told you, it's all in this fuckin' dream. Now if you would just please watch it so we can figure out what the hell we are gonna do about it, I would really appreciate it."

"Fine," Incredibly angry, and without options, Sylar grabbed her hand and took them both into her memories.


	5. Interlude: With a Little Help

AN: Sylar deserves a friend. Claire's his girl and Peter's his friend, right? But boys can always benefit from a friend who happens to be a girl. This awesome interlude gives him one. Just to clairify, this takes place before the previous chapters, about a month after Claire jumps and about 5 months before where we are now. Sorry for any confusion, and I'm always willing to clear things up... so anyone just ask!

I am broke, I wouldn't be if I owned anything... Language ahead that is bad for kiddies, and other things like murder and stuff... Thanks for reading!

INTERLUDE: With a Little Help From My Friends

Sylar had met Mackenzie Desmond under rather interesting circumstances. The life of a power collector was always an interesting one, as Sylar had come to learn. That particular Wednesday morning had been no exception.

The world, still reeling from the shock of Claire's jump a month before, was turning into a different place. The unevolved and uneducated were slightly panicked, and attempting to pull the general public along with them into a world of paranoia. Legislation was on the table to track and mark every person with abilities. Luckily for him, Sylar was an off the grid kind of guy. Just let them try and track him. God, he fucking dared the government to come after him... bureaucratic pigs.

But there were a few organizations and other groups staunchly supporting the specials. Sylar personally thought that the President or someone close to him was a special, as Washington had continued to remain neutral, despite a public clamoring for strict action. The President had also been firmly set against experimentation or any type of incarceration; he had made angry veiled references to Nathan's secret special hunt. He had also mentioned in a recent press conference that he was working closely with several members of the "special community." Sylar would bet dollars to doughnuts that a branch of special-special ops was already well underway.

Despite the brave new world and all it's untold madness, Sylar had a lot of work to do. He had the most well known woman in the world to protect until the end of the planet, a powerful hunger to fight and a moral compass to locate. He had been pursuing a wonderfully intriguing ability, plant manipulation. Sylar had been genuinely excited with the prospect of unfolding a brand new, incredibly complex ability. Giddy was, in fact, probably a better word to describe him right now. According to his research, Jackson Merson, the plant manipulator was a genius at his craft.

At this phase in his game, Sylar really had to pick and choose his abilities well, as he was creating the ultimate arsenal, a cache of abilities that would easily carry him and his precious girl (Once she didn't abhor the very sight of him) to the ends of time. There were just so many levels to her protection to be considered. On a personal note, he was comforted by Micah's ability, due to the fact that he could pretty much check on Claire anytime he wanted. People don't even notice how many cameras they are on every damn day. For the time being, she was protected though, and hopefully Peter would be able to maintain a handle on that for the time being. Claire extreme notoriety had been working wonders to deter the shadier characters.

He needed to be prepared for every eventuality. Sylar knew the means to create a green, thriving and beautiful world would have more than one usefulness as time went on. Sylar wanted Claire to have eternity, and he really wanted her to enjoy it.

He had gained a complete understanding of Micah's ability over the last few weeks, pouring over C++ and Linux manuals, and spent countless hours studying fucking binary, which he had thought would honestly be the death of him. 'Immortality be damned,' he'd told Micah over the phone a week after copying his power, 'I'll jab a stake into the sweet spot myself if these ones and zeroes don't let me get some rest.' Micah had laughed at him for a couple seconds, then proceeded to go into a 30 minute lecture on the importance of binary, on a technological, cultural and social level.

As Micah's ability became second nature, the hunger had clawed and snapped, begged and pleaded, as it had been his demanding attention for days now, and some serious action was required immediately. Something new… fresh… that's what he needed. Controlling the hunger via the empathy was proving to be a challenge within itself, being around any new power was always a temptation and Sylar was very ready to 'feed' the veracious hunger.

His technologically enhanced Internet search for abilities had led him to unremarkable English, Indiana. The town was barely a speck on the map, and there was good reason for that, there was nothing there except a church, a gas station and a liquor store. Obviously that factor had worked in Sylar's favor, as he didn't see a single person on his way to the residence of one Jackson Merson. Of course Sylar had his cover story and fake persona ready for any problems he may encounter. After all impersonation was one of Sylar's favorite hobbies, but despite his enjoyment of deception he was relieved that he hadn't had to deal with anyone. His nerves were as frayed as they had been in a long time. He'd never tried to convince a stranger to give him their ability with this empathy and he was apprehensive to say the least.

Nevertheless, he approached the front door with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Sylar figured that the old adage, "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar" was pretty apt when you needed to understand someone the way he did now, this empathy thing was trickier than one might assume, even for an ability savant like himself. This acquisition was vital on multiple levels and it was time to get it done.

Sylar raised his hand to knock on the door and before he could finish the motion, a series of crashes sounded from within the house. He was in the house within a second and headed in the direction of the sounds in less than two, hands charged with Elle's electricity.

He'd left Peter's kitchen just over 3 hours ago, only after giving his solemn pledge not to kill anybody while he was gone. Peter had put his hand on Sylar's shoulder just as he headed out of the door saying, "Seriously, you always have a choice. I have to trust you to make the right one. Do you know how hard that is for me, dude?"

Sylar truly wanted to be a person who was worthy of being Peter's friend, a person who was worthy of having any friends at that. Sylar had turned and looked Peter dead in the eye. "I'm not the same man, Peter."

Pete had smiled, "I know, now prove it, jackass."

They had had thousands of little moments together that had pulled them closer, bringing Peter and Sylar into a real friendship, shrugging almost in sync they awkwardly exchanged a bro-hug that was quick to happen, but fierce in emotional impact.

The struggle was in the kitchen, and Sylar was lucky that he was a reformed serial killer because the scene unfolding before him was not for the faint of heart. Jackson Merson was fighting with everything he had when Sylar reached the threshold. He stood directly behind Merson, using the man's bulky body to obscure himself from view. Plants, large and small, flowers and trees, roots, vines and branches were radiating out from him in every direction, covering most every surface in the room, surging towards the girl standing in the threshold of the back door.

She could easily be termed beautiful, Sylar mused, especially while standing in the path of destruction without a blink. Taller than most women and carrying herself with a cockiness that seemed ingrained. Her face was long with an oval shape like her body. Despite himself and his current quest at hand, he found her entrancing, and those sharp blue eyes were fixed on her prey, and Sylar knew that she knew of the HUNGER. Sylar saw a small, very familiar smile cross her face. The plants were heading for her menacingly as Jackson yelled over the crashes and bangs, "You think you can just take whatever you want, little girl?"

"Nope," there was laughter in her voice, skirting around the edges of her words, "I know I can."

Sylar watched the vicious plants whip and shoot towards her. Merson's power was magnificent, as promised, to see in action, his control of his ability obviously incredibly honed, but the girl seemed untroubled by the forest about to whip her in the face. Her arrogance was definitely something Sylar appreciated, and as he was about to learn, rather justified. Just as the first wave of branches and stickers encroached upon her personal space, they went brown, dry and dead. Sylar watched, fascinated as the brown spread down the vines with incalculable speed, spearing towards Merson.

Merson screamed as the darkness reached his hands. He fell to his knees, his scream melting into a pained moan as he fell. All the renegade plants were ceasing their movements and dropping lifeless to the ground, browning and decaying as they fell. The room got hotter, the air changed, thick with moisture and Sylar felt, for one of the few times in his life, a tingling at the base of his spine. Something was very wrong here.

The girl walked toward Merson, who was howling on the ground in terrible pain. She glided effortlessly across the room, her high heels crushing dead plants as her smile now turned to smirk. "I'm sorry to tell you, but I'm going to enjoy this Jackson," she said and seemed to get the chills, "And I just gotta tell you…" she put her lips right next to Jackson's ear, "This is really going to hurt."

Instantly the heat multiplied tenfold and what remained of the plants turned to ash. The air in the room was gone, reflexively Sylar's lungs demanded air and he began coughing... but he continued to go unnoticed. The girl had bigger fish to fry. Her right hand was hovering over the top of Merson's head, Sylar watched as the man's hair fell to the ground, the brown, terrible death spread down his body. She was draining the man, sucking him dry. His skin flaked and peeled away from his body and his organs seemed to melt away, his entire body shriveled and dead, within seconds reduced to nothing but lonely bones. The girl's head was thrown back and her face contorted in ecstasy and she seemed to shake with terrible power as she absorbed the essence of what had been Jackson Merson.

"Shit," Sylar said quietly, impressed, and intrigued. She had obliterated the man... not a trace, except some creepy charred bones. Impressive. Sylar had to admire destruction like that, his hunger loved to see raw, uncontrolled power and that sight had been like nothing he had seen yet.

Blue eyes shot straight toward him and her right hand shot up threateningly, into a familiar position, "Who the hell are you?" she was out of breath, clearly reeling from the power intake, eyes glazed with near-madness. She slowly started to back towards the door as she questioned him, confused by his presence.

In a calming gesture he smiled, using all his considerable charms and put his hands up, "My name is Sylar. Now just put the hand down and let's talk about what you just did, because it was freaking amazing."

Her face had lit up and she'd smiled at him, "You have got to be either kidding or crazy."

He'd chuckled once to himself, "Depends on who you ask."

"Well, what if I asked you?"

"Special."

"How _special_?" with that she'd raised one eyebrow at him and he knew he'd found himself a friend for life.

So they'd talked for hours. They had sat at the table of the man she had murdered and talked until the sun had set. Sharing a burden of a power beyond their will, they had bonded quickly. While Sylar had at one time been forced to cut his victims' in order to view their brains, Mac had been facing problems of her own. Mac's power had developed at the age of 14 and had ruined her life within a week.

For weeks preceding the manifestation of her ability, Mackenzie told Sylar, she'd been so fucking thirsty that she couldn't even think. As a middle-school aged kid, she had been involved in activities and sports, so she had naturally been drinking a decent amount of water, but it had never helped. A constant burning in her throat had been the beginning, and as time raced against a confused little girl, the burn spread and spread throughout her body, begging for relief.

Real relief was not in the cards for young Mackenzie Desmond. Mac and her bestest friend Liz had been heading from their English class to Algebra when shock waves of extreme pain had shot through Mac's nerve endings. The burning had acquired razors, and it was unlike any pain she had felt before or since that day. She'd felt her eyes glaze over, and her vision had fogged to the point of the world existing in giant colored blurs.

Just like Sylar had witnessed first hand, the entire hallway had turned into a hot-box, and though out the hallway, kids had began gasping desperately for air. Liz had screamed, and Mac turned to the left to see she had dropped to the floor and was writhing and crying, clearly in agony.

Acting on instinct, Mac at attempted to pull her friend off the floor. The moment Mac touched the girl, Liz had literally disintegrated, in front of her best friend's eyes, the unchecked raw power of Mackenzie's ability turning the other girl into nothing but atoms, obliterating Liz in less than an instant.

"Oh God," Mac whimpered as she stared at her hands, knowing on some level this had been her doing. Her hands were pulsing with some kind of energy, green, blue and yellow sparks jumped between her hands as she remain crouched, immobile and shocked on the floor. What had just happened? How had that happened? WHAT HAD SHE DONE? Unconsciously, tears were now pouring from Mac's eyes as she looked up and into the eyes of her terrified and choking gym teacher. All down the hall, children and teachers were struggling desperately to breathe in an airless void.

As she looked down the hall she could see wisps of different colors in the air, gravitating towards her, obviously generating from her peers and instructors. This was clearly what she needed... she just _knew _it! So she took what she could. She focused her thoughts, grabbing at the colors, pulling the very essence out of her victims. She could feel the 'colors' entering her body, a whole fountain of energy, knowledge and power flowing into her. OH GOD! GLORIOUS!

Suddenly, Mac knew the date of the Spanish Inquisition, how to create a polymer and the square root of 856,424. She knew the answers for her Shakespeare quiz for Friday, the number of students enrolled in her class and the moral standpoint of the British Monarchy. She felt stronger, faster, smarter and so very special.

Mac had been a good and friendly student, she'd known the names of more than half her victims that morning, but it hadn't mattered. The power, that was all that had mattered, before or since. Mac had felt genuine remorse for a few moments, but the glory and thrill was too great for her to ever deny.

Shocked and confused, riding an incredible power high, Mac had ran. She ran until her runner's legs gave out under her almost 5 miles later. She'd never gone home, never looked for her family and never contacted a single person she had known. During her story Mackenzie had managed to find a bottle of whiskey in Merson's kitchen and had drank consistently through out the entire tale of her youth.

Sylar had joined her at the bottle when it was his turn to explain a few things to his new friend. He'd covered the amazing feeling of acquiring his first power, the terror/glory of his first kill, the manipulation of the glasses though out the last few years of his life and being stuck in the fucking body of the father of the girl he was obsessed with. This had lead to a discussion of his tattoo, which she had laughed about quite a bit, specifically about the stupidity of that type of power usage... touching was not something Mac enjoyed doing. It had taken years for Mac to be capable of touching anybody without sucking them dry.

They had gone on to discuss powers they had, powers they wanted and ones they never wanted. Mac had a wonderful power tracking ability that Sylar had wanted. Mac had explained the meticulous process of getting wasted when you had regenerating cells and Sylar had explained how his ability had unlocked to give him the chance to take powers without killing. Mac was completely alone and content. Sylar was giving it his all to keep Peter close, and establish at least one real connection in this world.

For hours the pair shared secrets that few would ever understand, as they both constantly chased power that would only disappear with time. Fighting their hunger, they both had long come to the conclusion that they would never again be able to bond with another person. Mac was glad to have found someone she actually could stand the presence of. Sylar was happy to discover that Mac, despite her ruthlessness, was interesting and thoughtful and extremely intelligent.

So they traveled together for a few weeks, attempting to acquire the creme de la creme of abilities, working together and forming the greatest arsenal they could conceive and loving every minute of it. It was the first time Sylar had had a friend since the Mohinder/Zach deception.

But... both Sylar and Mac were loners at heart. It was also difficult for him to be right near her for the kills, as he could literally feel the power in the air, and watching her... sometimes the hunger would beg him to kill her, beg him to return the thrill of feeling the end of another. He knew there were moments when she knew, she would just stare at him, cold and dark, daring his hunger to fight her own.

In the end they parted ways easily, Sylar headed home to New York, with new wondrous abilities in tow, conscience guilt free for his return to Peter. Mac headed to tour Europe via Amsterdam, prepared to enjoy the perks of their newly found teleportation ability the week before. Like two magnets of sever power, they had to separate, feeling the danger and temptation of the kill between them. Sylar waved as she disappeared before his eyes and felt relaxed and empowered. He had managed weeks without killing, under sever desire he had stood strong, quenching the hunger, triumphing over his demons and staying strong his word. He _was _a new man with a new friend and now it was time to go home.


	6. Chapter 5

AN: First off, so very sorry about all the mad delay. This chapter was a BITCH to get the way I wanted it. This chapter is pretty heavy on exposition as I did (I think) everything I could to show what Sylar and Mac are seeing.

A little Claire-lite, but not much that can be done about that.

Please let me know if there's anything I can clear up, as we're gonna be seeing these guys again. But gotta set some shit up for later, dear readers...

I own no Heroes... *sad face*

Thanks for reading, maybe you'll even review and I can do a happy little dance...

CHAPTER 5

It was always disconcerting to tromp through the memories of another person. Sylar had quickly realized upon the return to his actual body that his clairsentence had evolved. Clearly 'Nathan's' excessive use of the ability had forced an adaptation of sorts. Stepping through the emotions of another person's life was a fucking trip... the bad type. Not that Sylar had much experience with that sort of thing, mind you. Experimenting with drugs had never been high on his list of priorities, even in the days of his youth. Despite his lack of knowledge about the druggy subculture, Sylar figured that the clairsentence was giving him way to see it first hand... or at least as close to first hand as he was ever going to get.

Sylar had discovered many facets of the ability that were unexpected from such a seemingly simple adaptation. Moving 'into' the memories turned out to be another nuance of the ability that was excessively useful when applied to the proper situation. It was clear that memories couldn't always be interpreted in the same manner, even from mind to mind.

It was like learning a new language every time. Sylar was astounded to discover, during his field work on the ability, that synapses would rarely establish a similar pattern from one person to the next. Not only was the 'language' of each person an enigma, but the syntax and grammar were awry as well, with every person slightly coloring their memories with their own viewpoint. Without his intuitive aptitude it would be impossible to comprehend the minds of others in such a manner, he knew this for a fact.

Often the memory sift was like wandering through a giant warehouse that had been hit by a tornado. Chaos reigned in the minds of the average individual, complete with painful memories howling and begging for the smallest amount of attention. Not only were the memories within the mind corporeal but the feelings would often attempt to transfer into his own subconscious. Once and awhile the minds he entered would be so terrified, so lost and so very alone that it was impossible to navigate.

However, Sylar was shocked at how easy it was to navigate though Mac's memory banks, her mind was organized meticulously. Sifting and searching, he attempted to avoid all irrelevant memories, but powerful stray feelings tended to seep though her impressive mental walls. He wasn't surprised that pain, anger and sadness seemed to be trapped in her mind, locked behind iron doors of will. After a few moments, he managed to locate exactly what he was looking for.

Sylar was glad he had also spent the time working out how to pull another person into memories. Without even half an instant to adjust, Sylar activated the memory and both Sylar and Mac were slammed into her memory "world". There was no real transition to speak of, just instant acclimation to entirely new circumstances. It was clear to Sylar that with significant time devoted to his study of this ability there would be even more applications of its power. Any ability that could completely change the world and perceptions around a person could be incredibly useful.

As Sylar became aware of his surroundings, he couldn't seem to distinguish any sensation from the next as he traveled to an epic expanse of space. Mac was incredibly disoriented, still reflexively holding his hand, looking around the void with blurry, glazed eyes. Sylar could see the duplicate original memory version of Mac in the distance, walking. Just walking.

Because there was nothing else.

Sylar looked left. There was just blankness, not even black or dark. Just absence.

To the right, he found the same problem.

Additionally, it seemed that gravity was skewed. Sylar seemed to be floating, but it all seemed terribly normal. Even more disturbingly, it took a moment for him to actually notice the fact. Substance seemed to be absent, but irrelevant at the same time. Then all at once, finally fully aware of his surroundings, Sylar realized that there wasn't even any kind of ground at all. It was just space.

"Freaky, huh?" Mac said with a forced smile.

Sylar shook himself. He _was _freaked out. There was an eerie energy permeating from wherever the fuck they were and the air was rife with power.

"What the fuck is this place?"

Mac released Sylar's hand and began following her dream-self across the void and motioning him to follow, "Well, I've been given multiple vague explanations. So we've got the regular three dimensions: width, length and height. Then we've got the dimensions of the slightly more free-thinkers," Mac popped up her pinkie and thumb, "Time and space. Then, we've got this crazy place. It's the 6th. Or maybe the 7th, who the hell knows? Just you wait until you hear the crap this guy is about to spout to poor dream me. It'll probably make more sense then."

Sylar was beginning to see the reason that Mac had forced him to visit this... world? Dimension? Place thing? Surely she could have tried explaining the _sensation _of being here, but he wouldn't have understood, he knew that now. Jesus, he hated being confused about anything, and this place was leading to nothing but confusion. Honestly, not only was the physical world they were visiting a conundrum but his mental processes felt slower. It was exceedingly more difficult to string his thoughts together coherently.

"Where the hell is your dream-self going? This is ridiculous, there's nothing here," Sylar muttered.

Mac sighed and moved her right hand to massage her temple, "He's calling me. All the time. Whispering, in the real world, but here, in his place, it's hard to hear anything else. When I was in the dream," Mac pointed at the past version of herself, "I just kept following his voice. He promises me everything. The universe at my feet, power beyond my wildest imaginings, and the always popular, eternity."

Obviously the laws of physics were skewed too because as Sylar opened his mouth to question Mac further about her dream stalker when he realized that they had crossed a massive amount of space with no effort. Suddenly Mac and Sylar were standing directly behind the dream version of Mac who had managed to discover some kind of altar. This was the only object Sylar had seen since they had arrived.

The altar was impressive to say the least. It was made primarily of flawless black marble, about two feet thick and spread across a large area. The full base of the ebony platform was about thirty feet across and ten feet wide with four small white ivory steps centered on each side of the rectangular altar. About two steps from each corner there were two pillars, placed equidistant from the center. The pillars were made of gray slate and there were tendrils at the bottom which were spearing into the pitch black of the altar, molding into it seamlessly. Additionally each pillar seemed to be pulsing. In fact, from Sylar's perspective it looked like the pillars were breathing.

But the real concern at hand was in a throne positioned in the dead center of the altar. The throne was following the elegant black theme of the altar. It was seamlessly integrated into the base of the platform. Clearly the pillars were connected to the throne as well. Each pillar had one thick gray tendril that speared unerringly towards the throne. The grays were wrapped madly around and through the solid stone making it impossible to discern where the gray ended and black began.

Breaking him out of his deep analysis of the area was the sudden appearance of some sort of portal made of melting blacks, blues and purples. The two men who emerged from the gap were stoic as they stepped onto the altar, seemingly unaffected by stepping into another dimension.

The men were similar in basic physicality, Sylar assumed they were cousins or brothers. The only obvious difference that Sylar could see was their eyes, blazing blue and burning green cutting into dream Mac's. Both were slightly taller than Sylar but maintained a lean form similar to his own.

As Mac, or any woman for that matter, could have told him, they were appealing on a level that was nearly overpowering. There was a savagery lurking under their skin, nearly animalistic in their raw sensuality. A thousand deaths were hidden in their eyes, clearly they knew pain, clearly they knew suffering. It was obvious to Sylar that they were, in fact, the bringers of said pain and suffering.

They were beautiful and they were terrible, a combination that could end any universe.

"Attractive," Sylar supposed to Mac aloud, "Cocky as well."

Sylar was pretty familiar with that particular personality trait. Arrogance was clearly a trait these men owned without a problem. In addition to their general demeanor, the tone Sylar heard them speaking to dream Mac was infused with superiority. 'Blue eyes' had walked up to dream Mac and began circling her while he spoke in quiet, but firm tones.

"Hello again, my Mackenzie," he was called Will, a name he had chosen upon arriving in this universe, for in his world he had no name, as he needed none, "Have you missed me?"

Mac remembered how she had been frozen in place, unable to ever break the spell he seemed to cast over her. Every time she entered his dream realm it was like she could feel his promises caressing her, pulling her ever closer to him. Her own sense of self preservation was constantly fighting his power and screaming to run. Run fast, run far and never look back.

Then he was talking again, in that calm, controlled manner, so matter a fact in his tone. The words were always blurry, her mind fogged over in his presence. He was telling her she was important, perfect and vital to him, vital to his future. His words were everything any woman wants to hear from a gorgeous and powerful man. He was like a dream come true, in looks, in demeanor, but that coldness... that brutal, bruising coldness flowed like waves from him, making the dream all the more terrifying.

"Once the cheerleader joins her power with ours there is no force in the universe that can contain us. We are the future, Mackenzie." Green eyes, known only as Linus added smoothly, his voice slightly softer than his brother's, with just a hint of southern cadence to soften his words.

Mac scoffed loudly, "Sorry pal, but the cheerleader's been claimed."

"Sylar's power is fleeting. Your world is so small, as are its nightmares. He is of no concern to us," Linus waved the thought of the mass murder away causally, as Will seamlessly continued the conversation.

"She will love my brother. We will watch as Claire destroys her greatest enemy and claims her rightful place in a new order. You know, Mackenzie, you'll have a family at long last. We don't begrudge your choices. They turned you into the powerful woman you've become. We have decided to forgive your crimes my dear, but I'm afraid Sylar will not be so fortunate."

"Who died and made you the fucking judge of humanity?" Mac had spit out angrily.

Linus smiled and Mac felt her stomach drop, even from her observational position she could remember the dread that had filled her, how her blood seemed to freeze under his perfect smile.

"Humanity isn't worth the energy to save. They are a brutal, angry and foolish race. They must be culled out. The race is a blight on the universe and must be cleansed and condensed. Be grateful we have chosen you to survive. Billions will perish under our hand, only those worthy of life will remain. You know this is the future, Mackenzie, as we have shown you before."

Oh, and she'd seen. They'd showed her, time and time again in dreams. Different people, different countries, different battles... but all the same. The blood would overwhelm humanity, flowing like a river through the world; the bones of those who were destroyed so quickly that they never even knew pain.

She'd seen visions of the desperate, the lost and the brave.

She'd seen them all tremble at her feet. And it terrified her.

Will and Linus also seemed to have the rather annoying ability to finish each others thoughts because once again Will picked up the dialogue, "We are offering all that power to you, my dear. We know that power is your God, Mackenzie. You will be a goddess, a ruler of worlds and eternity. Stand with us, there is nothing I would deny you."

Sylar had heard just about enough.

"What the fuck, Mac?" Sylar rounded on the actual Mackenzie, outrage coating his features.

She rolled her eyes, "I _told _you it concerned you!"

"You didn't mention that my murder, via Claire, was on the top of the bad guy agenda! Shit," he was pacing now, back and forth across nothingness and continued mumbling under his breath, "Not to mention they're after _my _woman... Finally, FINALLY, I make a little progress! And what happens? Everybody's always gotta be tromping through my Wonderland..."

When he looked back at the scene of past dreaming, Sylar could see Will had changed tactics, moving around Mac with light touches down her arms and finally ghosting a hand across her cheek, almost reverently. Sylar could hear him, seducing her with words, "Are you aware that you are unique in the whole of existence? My power can give you all your desires, my love."

Sylar watched Mac flinch back from Will, physically moving away from him for the first time. Sylar demanded and explanation and Mac's face went serious was she turned to face him, "That fucker doesn't even know me," She jabbed her finger towards the interaction, "Love means you know someone, inside and out, and then still need them. That's what I'm looking for, Sy, not some power hungry monger trying to manipulate me to be his super powered lap dog."

Sometimes Sylar was awed by Mac's perception, you would think her views would be tainted with the blood of her victims, or perhaps haunted by her own loneliness. Just because you kill doesn't mean you don't love just as fiercely. At the end of the day, love is a mission of the utmost importance, even to those with a darker soul. But how could the dark live with the light? How could he convince Claire that they were compliments? That she was the _only _destiny he wanted? By their very nature, they should be kept apart, they've been divided down a line of hero versus villain. He needed to erase this line. Between him and Claire, between him and Peter, between him and the world, he had to find balance.

Perhaps this train of thought is what disturbed Sylar's focus, or perhaps some outside force had noticed Mac and Sylar's intrusion, nevertheless, Sylar could feel the dream world slipping away. As they stood in the plane of nothingness, fissures began to form in the very fabric of their world, cracking and breaking to reveal Peter's apartment, complete with one incredibly huffy cheerleader.

As both Sylar and Mac began to shake off the remnants of the world left behind, Claire stomped around Peter's living room, snatching up her possessions and mumbling angrily under her breath, "'Oh, I've _changed _Claire! I'm a new man!'" Claire's tone had gone deep and mocking in a decent imitation of him own, "What a fucking crock... New man, my **_ass_**! Maybe new slut would be more fitting..."

Mac recovered from the dimension shift first, and promptly began chuckling at Claire's rant, "You slut!" Mac pointed at Sylar and burst into a fit of giggles.

Claire didn't happen to see Mac point at Sylar, and needless to say, the situation escalated. Claire's face mutated into a smattering of rage and shame, as she turned on her heel toward Mac with blood in her eye, and dropping her accumulated items. She managed two angry strides toward Mac before Sylar grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her off her feet.

Caught between two, opinionated and stubborn women was the fucking last thing Sylar wanted to deal with on this day that would never end. While holding a flailing Claire, he looked at Mac and in his best, no nonsense voice attempted to diffuse the situation, "Mac, have a little class."

Her laughter never slowed, "She's the one calling people 'slut;' not me!"

"Zip it, Mackenzie!" Her mouth finally snapped shut, and Sylar grabbed one of Claire's hands with surprising gentleness, despite the fact that his temper had reached a breaking point, "What the hell is wrong with you, Claire?"

Claire was flabbergasted yet again. Was she going nuts? Had she not just walked into the room to see Sylar, a man who had just shoved her out the door after turning her into a sizzle of hormonal-madness, in some sort of meditation, voodoo hand hold with the most attractive woman Claire had ever seen? Were they just gonna stand there and look at her like she was the crazy one?

"Are you kidding me?" Claire yelled, mouth finally remembering how to make coherent sentences, "Were you two singing campfire songs in here? Or perhaps I interrupted some kind of gypsy seance? Or maybe, just FUCKING maybe, I'm even stupider than I thought! But I'll tell you this, I'm getting tired of being lied to. Bone tired."

And with that, Claire ripped the hand Sylar was calmly stroking free of his grasp and clocked him in the nose with all her might.


	7. Chapter 6

Warning: The following contains bad words...

AN: Not owning, just enjoying.

AN2: This is pretty much a mini-chapter. Just wanted to get something up while I'm still hashing out the next bits. Thanks for reading, and everyone knows that reviews are inspiration!

Chapter 6

Blood spurted out of Sylar's nose, covering Peter's gorgeous hardwood floor in seconds. Sylar saw blinding lights rip across his optic nerves and through a haze of pain, he heard Mac suck in a breath as Claire heaved air in and out at a rapid pace.

Sylar's vision was choked with a haze of fury. He eased his nose back into alignment as he remained terrifyingly silent. Both women finally seemed at a loss for words.

"At least there's that," Sylar thought, as he felt the bones fuse back into place to reform the bridge of his nose, "Finally, blessed silence."

Claire stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. She'd finally slowed her breathing and she pulled air deep and slowly into her lungs. She stared right at Sylar, silently daring him to action, and he was damn tempted to take her up on it.

Mac was quiet as a mouse and drawing random designs on the island's surface with her finger, desperately wishing to be, really, anywhere else. Emotional scenes were not her area of expertise and she really wanted to get the fuck out of this room. Clearly the cheer leader had some fucking rage built up. Perhaps even a darkness inside of her, that hadn't been anticipated. This situation really seemed to be spiraling out of control.

She'd hoped that by coming, by warning Sy, she could protect her only friend. But now, watching Claire seethe across the room, Mac was terribly worried that by coming to New York, _she_ had now set off a chain of events that could mean the destruction of humanity. Maybe this had been a mistake, coming here, asking for help, like some kind of pathetic damsel or something lame-ass like that. This was shaping up to be a serious disaster.

Mac was terribly troubled, to say the least. Being on Claire's bad side was not a position Mackenzie ever wanted to be in. In dreams, she had seen Claire over and over, a harsh queen, ruling a dark future. She'd seen this version of Claire in her dreams, an angel of vengeance, determined to lay waste to the world that had continued to betray her.

Mac was scared of that Claire, deep down, pit-of-the-gut scared. She had been so apprehensive of letting Sylar use his memory power on her for a reason. She really didn't want her best pal to see the images running rampant in her head: images of his beloved Claire, cutting down the innocent and guilty without hesitation; images of her clothes covered in the blood of strangers; images of Claire; jamming unforgiving swords and daggers through the body of her best friend; images of Claire, spread out on that creepy-ass altar, clinging to Linus, eyes glazed with longing, begging him to take her.

Mac had seen too much of that perverted future to let it happen. Time was fluid, ever-moving, and Mac knew there was still hope to change what she'd seen. She was coming to rely on Sylar's friendship, and already beginning to see the dangers ahead. But in Mac's opinion, true friendship required sacrifice. It looked like saving Claire from herself may just turn out to be a costly mission, for everyone involved. It looked like things were getting serious, and that's when friendship turned out to be the most important.

Mac knew one thing though. Time was short. Mac didn't know the specifics, but she could feel them coming. That fucking coldness was riding the breeze, gathering strength and they needed to ban together if they wanted to stop Will and Linus. Mac just wanted to save the world, for a change. It turns out, that task is easier said than done.

"Jesus, Claire, what the hell is your problem?" Sylar finally said, with an almost terrifying calmness.

"I… Well, I was…" Oh shit, how could Claire possibly admit she was jealous? She shouldn't have gone back into the apartment in the first place. Who needed keys, right? She had gone in to retrieve her stuff, truly, but that didn't mean she couldn't check out what was going on in there, right?

God, there had been power filling the room, Claire had felt it deep in her gut. It had been distracting to see the pair clutching hands. Claire had felt betrayed and beyond confused. Why was she feeling this way about Sylar? More to the point, who was she to demand anything of him? He wasn't hers, and she didn't want him to be. Damnit.

"Okay, immortals let's just calm down here and pull it together. The bad guys sure aren't out punching each other in the face and stuff," Mac said putting her hands up in a hopefully calming gesture.

"Mac, would you pour us a round?" Sylar said gesturing to the bottle of alcohol still sitting atop the island, "Claire, you're going to want to sit down, we've got a situation on our hands."

Claire watched as Mac lazily levitated an additional shot glass from the giant violet bag resting in the corner of the room. Curiosity got the better of the cheerleader and she sat across the island from girl, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sylar did his best to give Claire every detail he could about the experience in the dream-state. Mac would randomly interject additional thoughts or concerns. As they continued to explain the excess of power they felt, and the dread that Mac felt every time they approached her in dreams, Claire began to see the pieces slip into place.

"So these two guys think we're gonna be like their mistresses for all time or something? What the hell? Why me? Why you?" Claire demanded jamming her thumb towards Mac.

"That seems to be the general plan, yes," Sylar said nodding, brows knit in concentration. Claire could swear she could see his brain flying, connecting thoughts at a rapid fire pace, attempting to get the edge on their newfound enemy. "Even with a little apocalyptic world domination thrown in for good measure. My theory is that they have chosen you two based on a vast number of factors. The main reason, I believe, is the actual powers you both have and their possible applications. Odds are when your powers are used in conjunction with Will and/or Linus' assumed abilities, even more powerful abilities could, in theory, be attained."

Sylar had gotten into a groove mentally and stood up, moving back and forth across the room as he seemed to pace his way to more answers, "That's not to mention that you two are incredibly attractive members of the female gender. In theory, it could be some elaborate cross-species mating experiment. Linus called humans a blight, then why take one for your own? They didn't just pick you out of a hat. How did they find out about you? We know they are from another world, but who knows which, and who knows how many different dimensions could be out there."

Caught up in his own musings, Sylar finally turned to look at them with a rather serious face, "We may need some back-up."

Claire scoffed, "You're supposed to be the most powerful special in the world, and you wanna call in back up?"

Sylar seemed unaffected by the scorn lacing Claire's words. "We have a serious problem here, Claire. I'm not risking you."

Before Claire could manage a response, Sylar walked out of the room, pulling out his cell as he headed toward Peter and Emma's bedroom.

"He's not kidding, you know," Mac said quietly, "He'll go to any lengths to save you. I just hope it doesn't cost him his life."

"What are you talking about? Sylar can't be killed," The idea was ludicrous. Claire shook her head once, "He has my power."

"Yeah, and haven't you learned there are a couple ways that can be dealt with? Mayhaps some glass to the back of the skull? You know his weaknesses. I know his weaknesses. Will and Linus are going to do everything they can to seduce us, use us, and turn us against everyone we've ever known. They have power, Claire, in terrifying amounts."

Who the fuck did this girl think she was? Claire was nobody's hero. Every single time she tried to save the day, it tended to backfire pretty epically in her face. Claire pulled her hands through her hair, "What do you want from me? Other than scaring me with your ominous prophecies? Sylar isn't my friend," She wasn't sure why saying it made her muscles clench; "I don't care what happens to him. I don't know you and I honestly don't care what happens to you either, you probably made all this shit up anyways."

"I knew I shouldn't have come here, the world is in danger and all you can do is focus on your extreme Sylar-hate. I'm fucking outta here," Mac shoved herself from the stool, levitating her bags into her hands and shook her head at Claire, "You're not worthy of him, no matter how fucking immortal you are and no matter how many T-chars he makes. You're gonna destroy us all, you bitch."

Claire opened her mouth to respond, but Mac had disappeared from the room.

Well, she'd done it now. Claire had managed to alienate their only ally and come off like a complete bitch. Claire sighed and laid her head on the island. Sylar was going to be pissed and honestly, Claire couldn't figure out why she cared so much.


	8. Chapter 7

AN: Rated M for a reason... Like swears, and sexual content and Sylar, being Sylar.

AN2: I love writing this story. I'm sorry that it is taking so much time, I have a full-time job and I'm slowly but surely attempting to graduate college. Thanks to all who still follow and reviews=LOVE.

Chapter 7

Sylar walked back into the kitchen, carrying a laptop and reading from the screen as he approached, "So, Micah is currently hacking various government organizations, looking for any helpful information about Linus and Will. I called Peter and told him to get back here. He and Emma are going to be on the next flight out. When he gets here we'll have him negotiate with some of the others, who might not be so inclined as to join up with me, per se. Claire, maybe you could…"

Well, where was Mac? Sitting down at the island, Sylar rubbed his gritty eyes, finally looking at Claire. Christ, she looked terrified. "Where did Mac go?"

"I don't know. She just vanished."

He closed his laptop and smiled at Claire, "Couldn't even manage 5 minutes together. Why am I not surprised?"

Claire looked down at her shoes, "It wasn't my fault."

Well, that was a definite lie, or at least that's what the severe vibrations travelling through his body seemed to think. "Oh… It was hers, then?" Sylar replied keeping the serene smile fixed on his face.

Claire gritted her teeth, "Not exactly."

'No, lie that time," he thought. Now, torn between amusement and frustration at the female half of his species, Sylar knew he might be pressing his luck. It was, in fact, rather frustrating to Sylar, in that he _already_ had to deal with this girl-drama-bullshit. Leading a watchmaker's life hadn't led to an overabundance of female interactions, but intuitive aptitude had taught him that women tended to overcomplicate their interactions with the other members of their gender.

"So let me guess about 'exactly,'" Sylar leaned back on his stool, enjoying himself immensely; she really was so easily riled.

"Both of you tried to be the alpha female, as you both have a very similar tendency to careen towards bitch-mode when confrontation arises-"

"Bitch-mode?" Claire hissed.

"Oh, you better believe it, babe," he continued as he smirked at her, waiting for her next explosion.

Oh, she'd get him for that, 'Babe' crack, believe you me, but right now, Claire was going to clear up any confusion he may have about their relat-… Situation. Their _situation_, which is not anything like a relationship.

"Well maybe it's goddamn justified, Sylar!" she yelled, standing from her stool and slamming her palms onto the island, "She was trying to piss me off, trying to get me to care about you."

His face went shocked for a moment, only to be swallowed by a blank, angry mask, "And what's that supposed to mean, Claire?"

He slowly stood, every nerve in his body had tensed, and his muscles had locked. She'd been vulnerable in the long morning they had spent together. It had been a tease of fate to give him one perfect day with her, one torturously wonderful memory to haunt him through his eternity.

In the moments it took his brain to panic, she had rounded the island, "I can't care about you!" She screamed it and shoved him back a step, toward the hall, "I won't!"

Sylar looked down at her hands, one palm still pressed against his chest, the other was balled into a fist, pounding at his heart as if she could stop it with force. Couldn't she see how nearly broken she was? Couldn't she see how she needed him?

"I don't care if you'll die for me! I don't care!" Her yells had turned to sobs, "It doesn't matter!"

He'd cupped her face in his hands without thought, thumbing the tears from her cheeks, "I don't really care if you care, Claire. I'm going to protect you. It doesn't matter if you thumb your nose at me until the stars die in the sky. I'm always going to protect you, Claire," he couldn't stop himself from placing a kiss on her hair, "Always."

"Why?" He barely heard her whisper into his chest.

"Cause you're mine, Claire Bennet." How it cost him to tell her, to give her even that much power over him.

"I'm not though," She looked up at him, and shook her head once slowly in denial, but her eyes told another story as she stared deeply into his eyes, "You can't just take whatever you want."

That was her greatest mistake. Claire's desire to be strong was always outweighed by her need to connect to the people around her. He wasn't looking at her the way she had expected him to. She'd always seen something dark in his gaze, and always turned away from it. Now, she realized it wasn't possession, like she'd always assumed; or the Hunger, as she had always feared; and it wasn't just one more _boy_ wanting what he couldn't have.

It was her… he was just looking at her.

"Yes, you are."

This time his lips seemed to slide over hers. Savoring, caressing, and sampling. It was different than the snap of fire that had come between them earlier. She could feel her system slow, she could feel the separate beats of her heart, slowing, matching to his. There had been nothing like this in her life, no force that had made her feel each nerve in her body activate and sizzle to nothing in one instant.

For the first time in years, Sylar felt like the man he had been, he felt like Gabriel. Weak, hopeless, and lonesome Gabriel Gray had spent countless hours imagining what it would feel like to finally hold a woman in his arms, to feel her writhe and move against him. His other sexual experiences with Maya and Elle had never made him feel this way. They hadn't made him feel _right_, but Claire did.

Somewhere deep in Sylar's mind, he could hear one little quiet voice of reason chanting, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… Patience, Sylar, patience."

The voice didn't stand a chance. He could feel all his hard won control slipping away into a fog of desire. Claire made him weak, ready to beg for her. He could have her on the couch in a second flat, under him in less than two, cumming for him in five… His mind spiraled-out options for taking her, the ways he would make her cum, the ways she would scream when she did.

Sylar had devoted many hours to fantasizing about Claire Bennet. In his mind, he'd ravaged her on the shores of a deserted island, seduced her in the bed of their Parisian flat as the rain fell steadily and fucked her blind in the elevator of this very apartment building. Apparently all his glorious plans were for naught, because he had crossed the point of no return. He would have to have her, his plans for patience had shattered around him.

He pulled her down with him as he fell to the sofa. Her mouth never stopped, her hands were driving him mad as they roamed from chest to neck and back again. She was sighing against his mouth, kissing him over and over, deeper and deeper. Pushing his body up towards hers and rolling his hips, he heard her let out a deep moan of surprise as their bodies aligned.

Claire felt blindsided. She'd been touched before. She'd had sex before. She had decided awhile back that there was no point in building up some ridiculous expectations toward sex. When she actually _did_ get some from West, or from Marcus who had been in her Chem lecture at Arlington, it had been an uncomfortable experience that wasn't even worth mentioning.

This was nothing like that. His kiss alone had disarmed her, in a way she hadn't know was possible. Despite her attempts to resist, despite her moral outrage at her own desire for him, she needed him. And damn the consequences.

How could she have known? She felt a sigh leave her lips as he set his teeth to her neck, sucking gently at the base of her pulse. She trailed her hands mindlessly over his chest, marveling at the sleek muscles tensing under her touch. As she heard his breath catch, and felt a rising of power, at the idea of the most powerful man in the world, quivering under her.

Before she could react, his hands took a tone of desperation as he slid both his hands under her top to cup her breasts fully. Her breath escaped in a hiss as her head flew back, before her body could give the command. As her body arched in surprised ecstasy, she let go of her doubts and embraced him on a level she hadn't known she was capable of.

"Sylar," She whispered in his ear, and felt him stiffen under her body, clearly preparing for her rejection. But she surprised him again, "I want you to _touch_ me."

Every drop of blood left his brain as arousal clouded his vision. She'd said his name, the name he had chosen, she had accepted him and with that, everything had changed between them.

"Jesus Christ, Claire," he murmured as he trailed one finger down her shirt, burning a trail of electricity and rending the shirt down the center, leaving the shirt and bra that had been under it, to hang uselessly on her shoulders. He spread his long hand across her stomach and trailed his eyes up her torso to meet her eyes, the desire coloring his nearly black. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

As Claire's brain struggled desperately to catch up with the bombardment of sensation, he wrapped both hands around her back, pulling her down towards him, as his mouth captured her breast.

"Oh, God!" Claire moaned loudly, startled by her own response. Her body was beginning to move against him, hips crashing haphazardly into his. She could feel the arousal sharpening, arrowing for her center. Her hands began to claw at his arms, as his mouth moved without pause to her other breast and his hand molded the abandoned partner. He flicked his tongue across her nipple twice, mimicking the motion with his fingers before losing himself in the tasting of her.

Tiny sounds of pleasure kept escaping her, rising higher and higher in pitch. She could feel the radiating pleasure shooting from her stimulated tits to her brain, wrapping her synapses in blinding sensation, exploding color behind her closed eyes as her body spasm twice against him, screaming his name once as she lost all control.

His life, was complete.

Stunning.

She was fucking stunning.

Beyond the high he had felt evolving himself above the pathetic Brian Davis, killing that treacherous bitch, Elle, or hearing that dented spinach can rattle against the pavement; yes, beyond all those moments was this.

Her scream, short and high, had startled him away from her phenomenal breasts, where he had been lost in the sensation of tasting her. He had been distracted by softness beyond his dreams and the smell of sweet summer strawberries on her skin.

"I didn't know it was possible to cum with pants on," Claire panted, eyes still closed, body still twitching slightly in the aftermath of orgasm.

Sylar's cock hardened instantly as his ability calculated all the things he could do to her with her pants still on. Other men had touched her, his clairsentience had showed him others, grasping clumsily at her, trying to _reach_ her, always failing. He had her. Now, and he intended to keep her. He had to be chill. He had to keep her calm. He had to-

_Ring! Ring!_

"Of course," He sighed as he looked toward the kitchen, where the phone rang from the island. Then he looked up at Claire, still straddling his thighs, pressed against him, her eyes open and locked on his, sly smile across her face, "Are you really gonna answer the phone right now?"

_Umm, did he take a stupid pill?_

"No," he said, running his hands up her sides, easing his thumbs over her nipples slowly, "No, I hate phones."

"Me, too," She moaned, arching her body once more into his hands.

Her body had taken on a life of its own. As the kissing intensified, Claire paused to throw her ruined shirt and bra onto the floor, and pressed her chest to his, reveling in the feeling of being pressed against him.

"Sylar!" she moaned his name loudly as he set his mouth to her ear, and arched his hips, pushing his hard cock against her over sensitized clit.

Suddenly Sylar wrapped his arms around Claire and flipped their positions.

"I have to have you, Claire," he whispered in her ear.

"Yesssss," she whispered back raking her hands through his hair as he unbuckled her pants.

'This is really happening,' she thought, as Sylar slid her pants down and off. Panic began to sneak in as her brain tried to process her current situation. She was under Sylar, she wanted Sylar, she was about to have sex with Sylar. She could have stopped this, the phone had even handed her a free-pass, goddamnit!

She was the one who had done this. But the feeling… She had to have it. But… how could she live with herself? He'd murdered her parents. _This_ was how she would honor their memories? By fucking the man who killed them?

She felt Sylar's hand moving slowly up her leg, "Where did you go?" he asked quietly, pulling his hand away and sitting back on his knees between her legs.

"I…" His eyes were guarded now; she could almost see him slamming the mental barriers around himself as she struggled to answer.

He got up then, sighed once, handed her the throw from a nearby chair and walked out of the room.

AN 3: Oh yeah... Sylar = PISSED. It's gonna be sweet... Angry Sylar= Sexy Sylar!


	9. Chapter 8

AN: I claim nothing as my own, except for Mac. As always, beware of bad language and sexytimes…

AN2: Thanks for reading! I know it's a long time between updates, but I really just want to say thanks for sticking with me! Reviews = LOVE.

CHAPTER 8

'GODDAMNIT!' He screamed in his brain at maximum volume as he viciously twisted the knob of the shower. Full on, cold. Maybe that would be able to dissipate the fucking raging boner he had.

Pounding his head against the wall 3 times, he struggled to reel in his anger. It couldn't be free. Control was _all_ that stood between him and the Hunger.

"Goddamnit," he whispered, shaking his head, "I should have known better."

And he should have! Damnit! What had he been thinking? _Slam!_

'That she would just forget about all the wrongs you've done to her, Sylar?' Even his own subconscious had taken to mocking him, 'You thought that one morning of interaction and one global crisis was going to give you a chance?'

Fuck, who could even blame her? _Slam!_

He was playing on a different timetable than she was, living years later, forever changed by years that had only happened to one other person. He'd had _time_ to come to terms with his choices, and she… didn't.

His intuitive aptitude continued to circle back to one answer as to her behavior. Only one answer was logical. He'd never made secret his plans to woo her. Peter, in fact, knew everything that Sylar had felt comfortable telling him about his thoughts toward Peter's niece. Thinking of the pathetic shit he had said to her just earlier today caused him to bang his head against the wall a couple more times. _Slam! Slam! Slam!_

God, he'd been such a fool.

In fact, the only conclusion to draw from her actions was that she was playing fucking games with him.

He began to pace the bathroom, lightning jumping between his hands as he made an attempt to calm the fuck down.

After seeing the _loathing_ that had come into her eyes, Sylar knew he'd been played. How could he touch her when he could see the disgust on her face? She had fit against him perfectly. Her responses had been everything he had once dared to dream of. Yes, she'd been mind-blowingly hot. Yes, she'd responded like a goddess. Yes, she'd even had a sense of humor about how ridiculous her orgasm had been. Yes, she'd even said _his_ goddamn name. She was everyman's dream.

Jesus, what better way to fuck with him? For the love of God, just the image of her tossing her clothes to the floor was burned into his brain, ready to cause a lifetime of sleepless nights. If he thought about her "cumming" (But then, who could know what she had been faking?) again, his balls just might develop tear ducts, just so they could cry.

The Glasses probably put her up to this.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. She had been the one to kiss him in the first place! She'd been the one _eye-fucking him_ all morning! She was just fucking lucky that he had put a life of murder behind him.

Sylar shook his head once more, in a vague attempt to clear it. Peter would be here soon, an hour at most, Sylar was going to take a shower, wash Claire's smell off of him, and put himself back in charge of this situation. He needed to focus on the actual problem at hand, those fucking dimension-hopping dickweeds.

He'd been manipulated before, desperate for family, desperate for hope. He'd been desperate for quite a few things, in the last few years. Claire would need to realize that the Sylar that had emerged from Matt Parkman's nightmare, was not a man to be trifled with. Just because he turned into a hero, didn't mean he turned into a tool.

The man, her father had almost manipulated into suicide, was dead.

The man, who had been weakened into believing the lies of a pretty face, was dead.

The man, who sat back and let life roll all over him, was dead.

Claire placed a trembling hand to her swollen lips.

Had she gone _fucking_ crazy?

She clutched the small blanket to her chest, staring dazedly at her ruined shirt, and the pile of her pants and wondered how on earth she had gotten to this point in her life.

Never in all her imaginings of her endless future, was she left alone, mostly naked, still desperate for Sylar. She had damn sure never imagined that there was completely different _level_ of orgasm that, apparently, Sylar could bring her to.

Jesus. H. Christ. At least they'd stopped before it had become something she couldn't take back. He'd made no secret of his plans for her, Mistress of Evil for Eternity. Had they actually slept together he would have… cared?

Yes, yes. At least they had stopped.

Fuck, he probably didn't even have emotions anyhow. Just because he managed to act like a normal, stupidly _adorable_, guy for a day didn't wipe his slate clean.

In fact, this whole threat to the world thing… Was he tricking her? Was this all just another one of his games? Just a plot to bring her closer to him?

Ugh… Or was she just paranoid? Honestly, how could he have known that she would be here? How could Sylar have possibly anticipated that Claire would arrive? It didn't make any sense. Her confusion seemed only to be increasing as she pondered the events of the last few minutes.

Right now, Claire was baffled. He had changed drastically, and her un-ravaged ass was the fucking evidence, right here, right now. He'd pulled away from her, the man who'd tortured her, who'd vowed that she would belong to him.

He'd just let her go.

Claire looked toward the bathroom where she heard the water begin to run, wondering what in the blue fuck he could be thinking right now.

But _why_ would he let her go? If he was such a bad, terrible guy, why on earth would he walk away from her?

The more she thought about it, the simpler it became. A bad, terrible guy _wouldn't_ have walked away. He could have had her, both of them knew it. But he didn't. So… the evidence was pointing to the conclusion that he wasn't a bad, terrible guy at all.

Well. Shit. Claire stood up and looked toward the bathroom door. "Time to man up, Claire… Or woman up, as it were."

"What the hell, Sylar?" Claire's voice echoed loudly off the bathroom walls an instant after Sylar hears the bathroom door open.

"Claire, what the fuck are you doing in here?" He exclaimed. She had followed him into the bathroom! What in the holy hell was she doing? Does she think he is some kind of saint or something? Christ on a crutch, would God ever stop punishing him?

"I'm in here to get some answers, damnit!" She whipped back the curtain to reveal Sylar, palms spread on the wall, head under the spray, back to her. Oh jeez, that _ass_! Her still sensitized body reacted, shivering once at the sight.

Sylar sighed, twisted the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist before turning to face her. He really just can't seem to catch a break today. "It's rather rude to invade a bathroom when someone is showering, Claire."

"And it's rather rude to get up in the middle of a sexual situation!"

"Jesus, Claire, the second you realized you _were_ in a goddamn sexual situation, you turned into a plank! God, what do you take me for? A fucking rapist?"

"Shit, Sylar, no! I don't think you are a rapist! We _both_ know what has been happening between us all morning! Just like we both know that I just had my first _real_ orgasm at the hands of the man who I've spent the last couple years hating!" Claire's hands were flailing all over the place, "And ex-_cuse_ me, for having a little trepidation when I'm about to sleep with my greatest enemy! It's a rather intense situation to be in, you know!"

"You're right," He drags a frustrated hand through his wet hair. "It's been intense. I know, Claire, that this day has been stressful. You've been up for hours, and through an emotional wringer. You don't even know what you want right now. I'm going to get dressed, and I'll find you a shirt to wear." He said as he nodded at the throw clutched to her chest.

As he takes a step toward the door, Claire shoves him back, "No way. You're not leaving this room."

"Claire, stop being a child," He can see those gorgeous curves peeking out from the top of the throw, scrambling his thoughts. Now that he's close to her again… God, strawberries and sex, that's all he can smell. He can see her lips, still swollen from his own. As much as he wants her, he knows she doesn't know what the fuck she wants.

But being a good guy and getting out of the room should be easy. When he sees her eyes go hot at the insult he knows he can escape with just a few more blows to her ego.

Unfortunately for Sylar, Claire is actually a rather observant woman, and her eyes did not go dark because she was insulted.

"A child?" She questions in the sweetest voice as she releases the blanket and it falls in a pool at her feet.


	10. Chapter 9

AN: I don't own Heroes. I make no dollars from this.

AN2: The Mature Rating is real, don't read if you don't like swears and sex.

CHAPTER 9

Well… He had honestly tried to do the right thing here. No one could really blame him… especially if they were looking at this particular pair of breasts. Her skin was flushed, nipples erect and the tiniest smirk plastered across her face. For fucks sake, her body is fucking perfect and clad only in a pair of pale blue panties riding high on her hips. Right now, the voice of his patience has been drowned out.

"Wha-" His dry throat catches on the words, and he clears his throat quickly, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I made a mistake," She took one step toward him, trailed a finger up his chest and tilted her head back to look him in the eyes, "There's something here, right now, between you and I."

She trails her hand lightly over the tattoo of her own face. "Everybody in my life has used me for a pawn, including you. So the day you came, and changed everything; when I threw myself onto my bed, the _fucking_ blood still drying on my forehead from your work, I made a promise to myself, to be brave enough to make my own choices. I'm choosing _you_."

He grabbed her arms and shook her gently once, "You're not ready. You're not ready for what _is_ between us." She wasn't, and maybe never would be completely ready to know what he felt for her.

"Bullshit," she wound her arms around his neck, shifting to her tip-toes and pressing them heart to heart, "You don't scare me anymore, Sylar."

They slide together then, seamlessly. He's helpless to resist her and she's not about to let him. Kisses blend together as they stand in the steam of his shower. Claire knows in her heart somehow, that she's been chasing this… feeling for so long, that she can't let it slip away. He touches her shoulder and trails his fingers down the length of her arm, and tangles her fingers with his own.

"You don't know what you've let loose, Claire," he whispers, backing her against the vanity and pulling her hand to his lips.

For a second, she is too shocked to react to this totally unexpected moment of romance, the contrast of his actions leaving her dazed. Before she can recover, his hands have moved to her hips, and the tone has changed. He lifts her onto the porcelain of the countertop and she squeals and giggles, "It's so cold," she smiles against his lips and wraps her legs around his waist. She can feel his dick harden through the towel that separates them.

"Maybe I can warm you up, then," Sylar taunts and dips his head to take her nipple into his mouth.

Claire is surprised by the ease she feels while wrapped around Sylar, how a giggle had slipped from her lips and how his touch seems infused with thousands of dreams. She's terrified of the well of emotion she feels when he looks in her eyes, and scared of the smile that won't leave her face as she pulls her hands through his hair. As she feels her body warming to his touch, she feels treasured for the first time in her life. When the next wave of sensation travels through her body, Claire's mind shuts off completely and a loud moan escapes her.

As Claire's body arches further into his hands, Sylar feels as though he is finally in control of his destiny. His brave, beautiful cheerleader had taken matters into her own hands and full out seduced _him_. He grabs her thighs and hikes her off of the vanity to carry her toward the bedroom and prays to any god that will hear him to _not fuck this up_.

"Oh God," Claire whimpers as she feels the muscles of Sylar's arms tense as he picks her up. Her body has never felt this kind of intensity, wave after wave of excitement is building under her skin, making her quiver against him, sending another blow of sensation to her sensitized breasts. She drags his mouth to hers as they stumble down the hall. Their tongues tangle and Claire's nails dig into his shoulders as they fall to the bed. As he looms over her, Claire feels her body going into overdrive. She moves her hands across his chest, reveling in the tiny tremors of his body.

The feeling of power when a strong man quivers is something that cannot be underestimated. Claire can't even analyze the bombardment of sensation, his hands are everywhere, sensitizing points she didn't even know existed. She could hear his quick intake of breath as she ghosts her hand down over his dick, and it twitches toward her hand immediately.

"Jesus, Claire, you're killing me," he whispers in her ear. Years of wanting her, and literally days of fantasizing have put him in a near-blinding state of arousal.

"What do you like?" She whispers back to him, trying to hide her insecurities and keep him interested. She's been down this road before. She knows that the good part will be over soon, and he'll be pushing into her and she'll be telling herself how foolish it was to think that she could actually feel something.

He can feel a new tension in her. He can see the flashes of those useless boys, groping her, _wasting_ her. Sylar is a man who has made control his lifeline, and he knows today, he can give this to her. She's distracted by her own insecurities and he can finally show her what she has been missing; he can give her pleasure, unlike anything she has ever known.

He is also feeling the pressure right now. Sylar is honestly terrified at this moment. Terrified to destroy the future he _needs_ with her. He needs to tie her to him, and to give her more than she has ever dreamed possible. Desire can open doors to the heart, and he knew needed to use every weapon he could.

As his ability notes every sigh and moan, he begins to hone in on her weaknesses. He focuses first on her neck, specifically the right side, just under her ear, where she can hear his whispers. Every kiss and lick on the sensitive skin makes her squirm under his hands. As he slides her panties off her hips, he's sure that she doesn't know that sounds are escaping her constantly, fragments of words mingle with sexy moans and her body arches toward him, in an unconscious attempt to relieve the increasing pressure.

She can feel her body moving, quickening in desperation. As she strains against him, she can feel him slowing his movements, lightening the touch of his fingers. "Syyyyylar," her mouth emits what can only be described a keening wail.

Suddenly, his thumb is on her clit, circling rapidly and Claire loses the ability to control her limbs. To her litany of nonsense pleas, he slides his fingers into her. She's so fucking wet and so fucking close. He bares down on her clit and he feels her cum, around his fingers and a quiet gasp escapes her as she pulses around him.

As she comes down, Sylar tries to calm himself down by thinking about baseball, which does him next to no good, because he's never given a good fuck about sports, but he's pretty desperate at this moment. 'Umm… There are bases!' his brain shouts and then flounders for any other type of coherency. He's never been effected by anything to the point where rational thought has completely abandoned him until this, oddly, the most ridiculous day of his life.

She sighs once slowly with a huge grin plastered across her face and lazily unhooks the towel from around Sylar's waist. He watches as her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she looks at him with blatant arousal and hears her whisper, "Wow," once, almost reverently before looking into his eyes. For a moment they are silent, but for labored breaths, poised on the precipice of change.

Then she hooks one limber leg around him and whispers, "Do you know how badly I want you?"

His cock twitches almost violently in response and he clenches his teeth together and hisses her name.

"Now, Sylar. Please, now!" she says into his ear, begging and writhing under him.

Then she feels her arms being drawn slowly over her head, and her fingers encircle the iron bar of the headboard, one by one. Later, she would be baffled by how fucking crazy aroused she was by his telekinesis, when she thought it would always invoke fear. But she feels nothing like fear as he presses his body flush against hers, "Claire." He says quietly, and she blinks her dazed eyes open to find his gaze.

For one heartbeat, it's just them, eyes locked, bodies intertwined. Then he kisses her deeply, and slides into her body, without resistance.

"Oh my fucking God!" she moans loudly, dragging the last word out as her muscles clench around his cock.

"You can just call me, Sylar, Claire." He says, huskily into her ear.

She chuckles once before he's moving inside of her; those long, slow strokes, building so quickly. She throws a second leg around him and she's moving fast, her body too overwhelmed and too desperate to wait.

Sylar knows he's close, her body's so responsive and she's so close to cumming again.

"I want _you_, Sylar. Please," Her voice is hoarse and chokes off her plea. Then her walls are pulsing around him and he's cumming, with her pussy throbbing around his cock; her limbs tense as the orgasm rips a loud scream from her and her vision goes white.

AN Again: This chapter really just took so long, and I'm sorry. I wanted Claire to be the one who ultimately made the decision, and I wanted to be canonically believe-able that she would actually make that decision. In all honesty, I probably obsessed over this chapter's flow way too much, but I was aiming for hottness beyond imaginings… Please take time for a review if you enjoyed, and prepare for the aftermath scene, which is the original scene that made this story live in my brain in the first place. Thanks for reading!


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